The Chimera
by LinzRW
Summary: A city ruled by the magic-possessing, aristocratic Houses is about to reach its breaking point. Multiple Main Characters: one body contains two souls, a boy from the slums infiltrates a group of revolutionaries, two cousins fight for the title of heir, and a young man tries to hide his homosexuality from his House.
1. The Preparation

**I bet some of you are going "Not another story! Why aren't you working on The Skipper or Criminally Insane." Well, I actually started writing this story in 2013. I wrote 350 pages of this story, got all the way to chapter 29, and then suddenly stopped working on it with two chapters left. And now, six months later, I've come back to this story and started editing it. Some of you may recognize it, I have published other chapters online before - but this is the edited and revised version that will hopefully make more sense and be less confusing.**

**This story is inspired by my favorite creature from Greek mythology, the Chimera, which has a lion's head, a snake for a tail, and a random-as-hell goat head sticking out of its back. (I really jut like it for the random goat head sticking out of its back...)**

**Read, review, and enjoy! (hopefully)**

* * *

**1. The Preparation**

**32 Day of Spring, 1288**

* * *

**One**

Nathaniel Cadmus was proud of himself. He didn't flinch when his father threw the envelope down on the library desk. He didn't touch the envelope. He didn't even look at it. Nathaniel calmly closed the book he was reading and looked up at his father.

Robert Cadmus was seething. He towered over the desk, his blue eyes flashing with rage. For a second, Nathaniel thought his father might strike him, but Robert kept his clenched fists pinned to his sides.

Nathaniel's fingertips itched with the desire to tear open the envelope that rested innocently on top of the desk. Nathaniel knew what was inside that envelope and, as much as he wanted to see the acceptance letter with his own eyes, there was no chance of it now—not since his father had discovered the college application.

They stared at one another; the unspoken words between the father and son filled the empty library.

The Cadmus library was three stories high, its walls lined with books and the different floors connected by a spiral staircase. Three massive, bay windows stretched from floor to ceiling on each level of the library, which looked over the south wall of the North District and offered a view of the glass skyscrapers in downtown Shion.

Most of the shelves hosted books that were over a thousand years old, with peeling spines and yellowed pages, written by the first members of the Cadmus. Nathaniel rarely read the older books, afraid that if he were to touch them, the books would disintegrate in his hands. Nathaniel preferred to read the newer books, more specifically, the fiction books—something his family disapproved of greatly. Reading fiction did nothing to prepare Nathaniel to inherit the position of Head of the Cadmus.

From the moment thirteen years ago, when Louisa Cadmus declared that the title of Head would pass to one of her two grandsons, Robert had done everything in his power to ensure that Nathaniel was the perfect candidate. From forcing Nathaniel to learn all forms of martial arts to hours of training to perfect Nathaniel's chimera abilities, from hiring personal tutors to make sure that Nathaniel had the best education to denying Nathaniel leave from the Head's side to attend college, Robert spent every fiber of his being trying to maneuver Nathaniel to the position of Head.

Nathaniel leaned back in the swivel chair and met his father's gaze. He refused to be the one to look away first.

"What is this?" asked Robert, violently prodding the envelope with his index finger.

"I don't know. You're the one with the envelope. I can open it if you'd like and tell you what it says inside."

Robert's eyes narrowed. "Don't be ridiculous. You know what this is. It's a letter from Shion College of Arts and Sciences. You applied to their science department?"

Robert waited for his son to reply, but Nathaniel kept his mouth clamped shut.

"I didn't know you applied to the College of Shion," said Robert. "I thought we'd agreed that you didn't need to go to college. You have access to all the education that you could possibly need right here in the Cadmus Mansion."

Nathaniel kept his gaze fixed on his father's face.

Trying to calm himself, Robert took a deep breath and fixed the collar of his gray, button-up shirt. "Shion College is for the People and the occasional Nameless who have been rejected from the police force and political offices. You are neither a Nameless nor one of the People. You have a Name. You belong to the Cadmus House. You are greater than all the college graduates in the city of Shion. You were born for a greater purpose. You are here to protect and guide the People, not to serve them."

Nathaniel watched his father's eyes grow brighter as the speech went on. He waited nervously for Robert to finish talking and then he said, "I applied for the geology department, Father. But that doesn't mean I want a job in geology, I just want to take the classes. I'm good at science, ask any of my tutors, and I think that taking classes with the People and the Nameless is a good experience—especially if I'm to become the Head of the Cadmus one day."

"The Head doesn't like the idea of you being educated amongst the People," said Robert. "That's why none of the Cadmus chimera attend public schools."

"Maybe that should change." Nathaniel turned the book he was holding over and over in his hands nervously.

"Maybe it should," said Robert. "But that will only happen when _you_ are Head. Do you think Mother is going to change that tradition? Do you think Michael will change that tradition? No. It's up to you and only you."

"I _know_—you've been telling me that since I was twelve."

"I don't think you do know!" Robert slammed his hand down on top of the envelope.

Nathaniel leapt to his feet. A row of books flew from one of the shelves on Nathaniel's left. The books rained down on the floor.

Father and son turned to stare at the heap of fallen books, the pages spread and the spines cracked open.

"You should control that," said Robert.

"It happens." Nathaniel lowered himself back into his seat. His hands were shaking.

"It shouldn't. I've never heard of Michael losing control like that."

"You've never _heard_," said Nathaniel, through gritted teeth. "That doesn't mean that it doesn't happen. Even you lose control of your abilities from time to time as well."

"But I'm not a candidate to be the next Head." Robert's voice was strained. His own mother had declared him unfit to become the next Head of the Cadmus and passed over Robert and his brother to offer the position to her grandsons.

Nathaniel's eyes flickered down to the envelope sitting on the desk. He took a deep, calming breath and then looked back up at his father. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again. The accident or my application to college."

"Good," said Robert. "And you should pick up those books before someone sees and reports to Mother."

"I'll make sure." The words came out more a sigh than a statement.

Robert snatched the envelope off the table and strode out the room. He opened the doors at the far end of the second floor—the doors with the pair of snakes entwining at the top of the arch—and, pausing long enough to toss the envelope and its contents in the trashcan, slammed the doors closed behind him.

Nathaniel stared at the trashcan long after his father had gone. He debated pulling the envelope out, just to read the word "accepted" on the page. It took all of Nathaniel's willpower to get up from his seat, walk across the room to the pile of fallen books, and start putting them back on the shelf. He was proud of himself, his eyes strayed to the trashcan only once.

"Maybe you weren't accepted."

The sound of the simpering voice caused Nathaniel to jump a little, but when he turned around, he saw his mother leaning against a bookcase on the far side of the room. She had slipped in through the side door, the one that connected to her brother Phillip's private study.

Margaret Cadmus was a beautiful woman who had almost reached the age of fifty. Her long, blond hair hosted streaks of gray, but rather than make her seem old, they gave an attractive shimmer to her hair. She had faint wrinkles across on her face and her eyes possessed a tired shadow to them; however, what made her beautiful was not youth, but pride. She was a grand woman, and by design, everything from her posture to her tight, green dress added to this grand appearance.

"Hello, Mother," said Nathaniel, bowing his head slightly in greeting.

"Maybe you weren't accepted," repeated Margaret.

"I applied with the Cadmus name," said Nathaniel. "There's no way they could _not_ accept me."

A faint smile flickered across Margaret's face. "Clever boy." She traced the line of a bookshelf with her fingers. "But how clever are you?"

"Very clever." Nathaniel bent over and picked up a thick book with a worn, gray cover.

A faint smile curled at Margaret's lips. "A soul is like a bucket of water with a tap running into it."

Nathaniel glanced down at the book in his hand. He did not have to open the book to know the next line. "In the People, the tap drips into the bucket. Water slowly spills over the edge and disappears without use. In the chimera, however, the tap flows more strongly and the excess water that spills over the edges of the bucket can be used."

Margaret nodded. "Used in what way?"

"Talents. Some chimeras can make objects move. Some chimeras can heighten their senses. Some chimeras can affect the minds of others. Some chimeras can shape their excess souls into objects. And some chimeras can make the world burn."

Nathaniel slid the book back into place on the shelf, sparing a glance for his mother.

She smiled; the gesture was more menacing than pleasant. "You learned your lessons well."

"Every chimera knows that. It's our first lesson." He paused and added, "It's a stupid metaphor, though. A thousand years and that's the best metaphor they could come up with?"

"It serves its purpose."

Nathaniel placed the last book back on the library shelf. Then, he turned to face his mother, wary of her every move.

Margaret took a step forward and another and another until she was standing opposite her son. His shoulders stiffened as she surveyed him, up and down. Finally, Margaret said, "Allison Tveit's Tasking Ceremony is tomorrow."

"I know."

"Do you think she will be given a high Tasking Number?"

Nathaniel considered his response carefully. "She hasn't shown any signs of a talent since she was six-years-old."

"The strongest often show signs late in life."

"The Head has high hopes for Allison, but I don't know if Allison can appease the Head."

Margaret's painted lips pulled back into a smile. "Let's hope then, for Allison's sake, that she has talent."

Nathaniel glanced at the bookshelf. The spines were neatly aligned in coded order. Not a single page was out of place. No one would know that his talent had thrown all the books from the shelf only a few minutes earlier.

"Yeah," said Nathaniel. "Let's hope."

* * *

**Two**

Allison Tveit dug her heels into the mulch and felt the swing beneath her slow to a halt. She stared down at her bare feet, the dirt marks on her pale skin barely visible in the dim light. Her yellow sandals lay discarded next to the metal poles of the swing set. Allison took a deep breath. She pushed off the ground and clutched the metal chains as the swing swayed backwards and forwards. She was careful not to let her feet touch the ground, however, the swing still came to a stop and Allison repeated the process.

Next to her, Thom was soaring ever higher. His legs moved in rhythm with the swing, never ceasing the perfect pattern.

He seemed so at ease in the air. For second, Allison wondered if he would just fly off the swing, never coming back down. Her heart fluttered at the thought and then a cold fear grasped her stomach. She shook her head and smiled at her ridiculous daydreams. She released the chains, which she had not realized she had been holding so tightly, and inspected the light indent that the metal had left in the palms of her hands. The crisscrossed marks disappeared after a little while. She watched Thom for another minute, wondering when he was going to remember her existence. It didn't seem like any time soon.

The night was getting colder and Allison wondered how close she was to breaking curfew. The Cadmus kept a tight watch. They wouldn't be happy to find her playing on the swing set outside her boyfriend's apartment.

Allison could imagine the scene already. It'd be some time in the middle of the night with the full moon high in the sky. The park was illuminated by a dull-orange streetlight that shone over the rusted swing set, the metal slide, and the jungle gym. Allison and Thom would be enjoying their date, laughing and talking without a care for the time. And then, one of the Cadmus chimera would come. He would come silently and quickly, with a disapproving scowl on his face. Allison wouldn't even know he were there until he stepped under the streetlight and she recognized his blond hair and blue eyes. He would call out to Allison, tell her it was time to return, that the Head demanded it. Thom would call the chimera an interfering prick and try to ignore him, but Allison—with her head bowed—would slide off the swing and follow the chimera back to the Cadmus Mansion without question. She owed them too much.

"Allison. Hey, Allison!"

Allison blinked as Thom's sharp voice brought her back to reality. He was standing in front of her, a grin on his boyish, freckled face.

"Hey, you," said Allison, allowing herself a small smile. "Are we leaving?"

"Do you want to leave?"

Allison shook her head. Then, she stopped and rested her right temple against the cool chain of the swing, her white-blond hair brushing against her cheek. "I should leave."

"Blah. You just can't wait to leave me and get back to that mansion of yours." Thom laughed. "My apartment just isn't big enough for you, is that it? I'm sorry that my washroom is only as big as your bathtub."

"It's not even," murmured Allison.

"What's that?" Thom cocked his head to the side to hear her better.

"I said—your washroom isn't even as big as my bathtub."

Thom rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry. We can try to flood my washroom and use it as a tub. Will that work for you?"

Allison's smile widened. "I'd rather stay here all night with your tiny washroom than go back to that gigantic bathtub."

"Then why don't you?"

"The Head would not be happy."

"The Head is never happy. I say screw the Head."

Allison traces the metal chain with her right thumb. "You don't understand."

"What don't I understand?"

"You just don't."

"Understand what?"

Allison shook her head. "Never mind."

Thom shifted the mulch around, drawing circles with the toe of his scruffy running shoe. He glanced up at Allison. "Don't you like to swing?"

Allison bowed her head so he couldn't see her cheeks turning red. "What?"

"You weren't swinging," said Thom. "I was having fun."

"I know," said Allison quickly. "You love to swing. It's great! You look like a bird when you're swinging—you look so happy."

"But you don't."

Allison bit her lip. "I don't know how to swing."

"What?" cried Thom with exaggerated shock. "You don't know how to swing? You've been alive for twenty-three years and you don't know how to swing? What kind of life have you lived?" Thom paused. "I guess the chimera really do live differently. What do you do when you're bored in that huge mansion of yours?"

"We don't know if I'm a chimera yet," murmured Allison.

"You are."

Allison shrugged, an awkward, lopsided movement. "We won't know for sure until the Tasking Ceremony tomorrow."

"Ah, yes." Thom folded his arms across his chest. "The all-important Tasking Ceremony. Where you receive a number that determines how strong your talent is—correct?" He grinned, proud that he knew even that much about his girlfriend's life as a chimera.

Allison nodded. Her Tasking Ceremony would take place on the 33 Day of Spring, exactly thirty-three days after her twenty-third birthday. Chimeras liked the number three: three parts to the Original Chimera (a goat, a lion, and a serpent), three powerful Houses that inherited the Chimera's gifts (the Aegon, the Leandre, and the Cadmus), the highest possible score in the Tasking Ceremony was a 3.00, and a person was not considered an adult until the age of twenty-three. Allison's world evolved around the number three.

"You'll do fine." Thom reached out and closed his hand over hers. Allison let go of the chain and let her fingers intertwine with his. Thom beamed at her and said, "You'll do great. You're one of the smartest girls I know."

"It's not about smarts," said Allison. "It's about ability. Either you're born with it or you're not."

"What happens if you go through the ceremony and you're not born with it?"

"I don't know," said Allison softly. "If I am not a chimera, perhaps the Head has no more use for me."

The words created a sharp pain in Allison's chest, an ache that had been brewing there for a very long time and had intensified as the date of her Tasking Ceremony grew closer. The possibility of uselessness frightened Allison more than she was willing to admit.

She had lived in the Cadmus Mansion since her father died in a house fire when, she was six-years-old. Head Louisa had raised Allison like one of her own Named grandchildren. Anything Allison could ever want had been given and more besides—her own bedroom and bathroom, an extensive education, an extensive allowance, and a status equal to that of a full-blooded Cadmus chimera. However, Allison had lived with the Cadmus long enough to know that nothing was given without a price. The Head had taken Allison into the Cadmus Mansion because Allison was supposed to be a strong chimera who could benefit the House. If Allison received a low Tasking Number or none at all, the Cadmus would have no use for her.

Allison pulled her light jacket closer around her shoulders. Even though they had entered the Spring Season, the chill of winter had not wholly disappeared. A biting breeze brushed over Allison's exposed skin and she wished she had not worn such a light dress.

"You cold?" asked Thom.

"I'm fine."

Thom watched her curiously for a moment, his hazel eyes clouded with thought. Then, he stepped forward and placed one hand on either side of the swing, gripping the chains. Their faces were almost touching. A burning blush crept along Allison's cheeks, but she could not look away as Thom pushed the swing back and forward.

"It's all in the shifting of your body," he said. "When you swing forward, you stretch out your legs in front of you. When you swing backwards, you curl up legs beneath you."

Allison giggled as she clutched the chains.

"Extend your legs," said Thom as he moved the swing forward. "Lean back."

"I'm going to fall!" Allison laughed. "Don't let me f—"All traces of a smile drained from her face. "Thom, stop."

"What is it?" Thom released the swing and turned to see what had captured her attention.

A man with a neat, brown beard and gray eyes stood beneath the lamppost; the dim, orange light cast eerie lines on his face.

Allison recognized George Walder-Cadmus instantly. He'd come to pick her up from her dates with Thom before. Each time George had worn the same disapproving expression—a chimera shouldn't be dating one of the People.

Allison hopped off the swing and started towards George, pausing only to pick up her discarded sandals.

George was born into the talentless Walder family, but after showing incredible abilities at the age of nine, George was taken in by the Cadmus. The Head paid for George, and other strong Nameless chimera, to be taught how to fight, act, and serve. When George was old enough, he passed through the Tasking Chamber and received the high score of 2.23—meaning that the Cadmus House still had use for him. In order to tie George to the House, he was married to Catherine Cadmus.

When Allison looked at George Walder-Cadmus, she saw her future. If she received a high enough Tasking Number, she would marry into the family and become Allison Tveit-Cadmus. She would serve them for the rest of her life.

"Your curfew's passed," said George, flatly, as Allison slipped her sandals onto her feet. "The Head's concerned."

"My mistake," said Allison. "It will not happen again."

She glanced over her shoulder as she fastened the buckle of her left sandal. Thom still stood beside the swing set, a deep frown fixed on his face. He was glowering at George, though George did not seem the least bit disturbed—George had seen and been through worse things in his time than the irritation of Thom Anderson.

"We have to go," said George.

Thom's gaze flickered to Allison. She swallowed when she saw the pleading expression on his face as he silently begged her not to go. She could still feel the warmth of his fingers intertwined with hers. She managed a small smile and a wave for Thom before she followed George across the park to the car that waited for them.

* * *

**Three**

Raoul Leandre watched through the glass as Head Marcel pulled the trigger of the gun repeatedly, creating bullet holes in the distant paper image of a human male. Through the sound-deafening walls, Raoul could still hear the faint crack of the handgun. Beneath the dark-red, electronic earmuffs, Marcel had an intense expression on his pale, thin face. The slight build and soft features made Marcel seem more likely to spend his spare time reading than practicing his aim with a gun. However, as the young Head of the Leandre House, Marcel was well trained in the use of firearms.

When Marcel finished a round of bullets, he pressed a button on the wall, causing the target to move closer on an electronic wire. From his place behind the glass, Raoul could tell that, while all of the bullets had hit the target, none of them had struck the bull's-eye.

Marcel sighed and pulled the sheet down from the wire. He tossed it in the trashcan as he headed for the weight lifting room from which Raoul watched.

"You're improving," said Raoul as soon as Marcel opened the door.

"Did you see my aim?" asked Marcel. "It was atrocious."

"But you're improving. That's the important part. No one becomes an expert gunman overnight. Do you think I mastered swordsmanship in a month? No. It was years and years of grueling practice. I'd go months without any progress—sometimes I'd even move backwards. So you see, even the slightest improvement on your part is a huge step forward."

Marcel unzipped his duffle bag, which rested on a wooden bench below the window. "I don't need a pep talk—but thanks."

"I protect both your body and your mind," said Raoul. "You won't find a finer bodyguard anywhere in Shion."

Marcel and Raoul spent every other night at the Leandre gym going through a series of workouts. Even after years of this routine, Marcel still treated the gym as a stranger and was always nervous around the weapons. Raoul, on the other hand, had practically lived in the gym for the past seventeen years. The white walls, the heavy equipment, the small practice rooms with blue mats covering the floors—they were all too familiar.

As Marcel wiped his face down with a towel, he asked, "Did you get a good workout?"

"The swords are well worked," said Raoul, pointing to the black case that rested on the bench next to his knee.

The case was long and thin, holding a set of dual swords. Raoul had trained with guns and knives, but swords would always be his favorite. His collection of weapons contained six swords: two for practice, two for work, and two for spare. Raoul needed nothing else. When he was ten-years-old, Raoul had realized that his chimera talent was, to put it nicely, pathetic. Ever since that revelation, Raoul poured his strength into learning physical combat. He may not be able to compete with other chimera on a talent level, but he would be damned if he allowed them to beat him. When Raoul's Tasking Ceremony had come along, he had scored a measly 0.28—barely a chimera by some standards. But three years later, when Raoul achieved the position as the Head of the Leandre's bodyguard, no one questioned his ability to fight.

Raoul glanced at Marcel, who was putting his handgun away in its case.

They were related somehow. Second or third or maybe even fourth cousins. As Named chimeras with no more than three years in age difference, Raoul, Marcel, and Sabine had taken lessons together in the stuffy classrooms of the Leandre Mansion. They grew up together, reached adulthood together, lived together—no one knew the Head and the Lady of the Leandre better than Raoul.

"What's up?" asked Raoul.

"Huh?" Marcel glanced over at Raoul, a crease forming between his eyebrows.

"What's bothering you?"

Marcel hesitated. He glanced around the gym, and after making sure no one was within hearing distance, he said, "Allison Tveit's Tasking Ceremony is tomorrow."

Raoul plucked his water bottle from the bench and took a sip. "Allison Tveit?"

"Yeah. You remember her? The girl who burned down a hospital wing when she was born and her house when she was six."

"Oh yeah. The Cadmus girl with the unseen flames. What about her?"

"Tomorrow's her Tasking Ceremony."

"Oh."

Marcel smiled wearily. "If Allison Tveit scores anywhere near Sabine's level, we're in trouble. Readjustment Season is almost here. We've always banked on Sabine possessing the Warrior's Seat, but what'll happen to us if Allison Tveit can contend with Sabine?"

Raoul frowned. "Don't you have a meeting about this tomorrow with the Council?"

"Yeah, but I want to run everything by you."

"I'm at your service," said Raoul with a mock bow.

Marcel sat down on the bench beside his blue duffle bag. "The General's Seat has not changed in six years. The past two Readjustment Seasons have gone by with Hendrik Aegon winning the election by a landslide. The police respect him and so do the People. He's doing a good job and we don't have a candidate to replace him."

Raoul nodded. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to say anything or not.

"Next," said Marcel. "The Master of Coin's Seat. Shion has seen a rise in profits since Karsten Geog of the Aegon gained control of the Seat three years ago. He's cunning and effective, and the People love him—his wife is of the People. Neither the Leandre or the Cadmus have a candidate who can compete with Karsten Geog."

Raoul watched Aimee Leandre run on a treadmill, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, which bobbed up and down in rhythm with her strides and her mouth moved soundlessly to the music that streamed through her pink headphones.

"The Judge's Seat is filled by Phillip Cadmus." Marcel continued talking, completely unaware that Raoul's attention was wandering. "I hate to say it, but Phillip Cadmus is a legitimately just man. He does everything he can to make sure that the guilty are punished and the innocents go free. He's competent and moral. We wouldn't be able to take the Judge's Seat from him if we tried."

"And you don't want to take the Seat from him," said Raoul.

Marcel shrugged. "He's a good man. Shion needs more men like him sitting in the government."

Lois Leandre was reading a book while running on the elliptical machine. He kept glancing in the direction of Marcel and Raoul, eyes sparked with curiosity. Raoul scowled at Lois when they met gazes and Lois quickly looked away.

"The King's Seat is occupied by Toran Dechamp who is backed by the Cadmus," said Marcel. "But the People don't particularly like him."

"So we have an opportunity to steal the King's Seat?" asked Raoul, tearing his eyes away from Lois.

Marcel shook his head. "No. While the People don't particularly like Dechamp, he's not incompetent. Besides, even if he does lose his Seat, the Aegon have the perfect candidate. Isan Mortien is known for his charity work; the People love him. We don't possess a candidate that can rival either Dechamp or Mortien." Marcel hesitated. "Do you know what happened the last time the Leandre House failed to win one of the Five Seats?"

"Enlighten me."

"The Leandre House almost disappeared. We lost half our income. The General and the Warrior Seats were both possessed by the Cadmus. Since Leandre House had no political power, the Cadmus had control over the payment of our officers in the police force. With limited income to add to the treasury, the Leandre nearly went bankrupt. Thankfully, we survived the three years, and by the time the next Readjustment came around, Leandre House was able to take the Warrior's and the Master of Coin's Seats."

"Are we facing that again then?" asked Raoul.

Marcel nodded.

"No one alive can compete with Sabine except maybe Allison Tveit, right?"

"Definitely."

"Then why don't we just stop Allison Tveit from competing?" Raoul rose from the bench and glanced down at the pale face of the Head. "Sabine will shoot you with your own gun if she ever finds out you doubted her ability to keep the Warrior's Seat."

"I know." Marcel sighed and picked up his own duffle bag. "I need a shower."

"I'll say," said Raoul. "How come I look a million times better than you after a workout?"

Marcel snorted. "Only you find yourself appealing after a workout. Sabine always complains when you come back from the gym and insist on hugging her before you get a shower."

Raoul grinned. "That's why I do it."

* * *

Four

The streets were lit by neon signs advertising night activities—bars, strip clubs, 24-hour pharmacies, coffee shops, fast food. The world was a blur of bright colors. In a way, the nightlife looked beautiful, but beneath the busy colors and pulsing music, people wandered from place to place dulled in mind and energy. Even in the early hours of the morning, the streets hummed with the voices of drunkards, drug-addicts, prostitutes, and criminals.

Knute Vidar shifted the backpack strap on his shoulder. He could feel the plastic case filled with cash shifting in the bag. It wasn't a lot of cash, but it was good pay for a dishonest day's work.

Knute didn't like the work he did, but it paid too well to ignore. Besides, if Knute didn't deliver the drugs, someone else would. Knute was simply taking advantage of his opportunities. The people who wanted drugs, it was their choice. Knute couldn't do anything to stop them. It was their choice.

No matter how many times Knute tried, he couldn't get rid of the nagging, itching feeling in the depths of his stomach. Using his thumbs, Knute lifted the backpack straps off his shoulders. That nagging feeling wasn't enough to stop him from working though.

"You look a little down, honey. You need a pick-me-up?"

Knute's eyes flickered to the right where a woman with rounded hips and swollen breasts was smiling at him. She wasn't pretty, but the thick make-up and clinging dress made men think otherwise. He shook his head and walked past her as quickly as possible.

Whenever prostitutes approached him, Knute couldn't shake the image of Gull standing on a street corner in a short red dress out of his mind. He couldn't be attracted to prostitutes when, underneath the thick make-up, he saw each prostitute with the face of his sister.

It was a relief to pass through the gates into the South District. Knute took a right turn and found himself passing through the gap between two six-story apartment buildings. The faulty pipelines dripped water into the gutter at a steady pace. The ground was damp from lack of sunlight and weeds were growing in the cracks of the sidewalk. Knute wrinkled his nose at the faint odor of mold, and walked a little faster.

Back alleyways might not be the safest place in the city, but Knute was confident in his ability to overcome any mugger. Being a chimera gave him the advantage in a fight with one of the People.

Knute had been born special—that's what his father called it. From a young age, Knute could make objects move with his mind. He need only will it and a car would slide forward to make a larger parking spot.

Private tutors were brought in to teach the House chimera how to use their abilities. Knute had no tutors. His talent varied from sometimes useful to somewhat uncontrollable. When he had fights with his sisters, Knute would send chairs flying across the room. There was no way to afford a tutor for Knute. His parents were of the People and had both grown up in the slums. Money was tight, and Knute had to learn to deal with his talent on his own.

He reached the end of the alleyway and took a sharp left through another backstreet to the Hornless Goat's Garden—called so because in the center of the small, city garden there stood the huge, stone statue of a goat whose horns had been sawed off by some drunk college students. Knute took the shortcut through the garden every day on his way home. The garden had been given to the People some fifty years ago by the Aegon House as a sign of good faith. The Aegon still insisted on paying for the upkeep even though the People allowed their children to trample the flowerbeds and encouraged their dogs to shit in the grass.

Knute slid through the opening in the metal fence. He didn't follow the dirt path that circled around the garden, but walked straight through the flowerbeds, making sure to step on as many tulips and roses as possible.

"Stop!"

Knute paused just before his right foot landed on some wilting petunias. He turned to see who had called out to him, who cared so much for the Aegon flowers.

A man stood at the entrance to the garden, gasping and panting as he clutched the metal gate. He looked like a frog—that was the best way to describe him. His gray-streaked, black hair was mattered with sweat, his eyes were wide and bulging, and his neck was swollen out of proportion.

There was something wrong with him. Something very wrong.

Knute scanned the garden until his gaze landed on a graffiti-covered bench. If necessary, Knute could use it as a weapon.

"You. Chimera." The man took a step toward Knute and then stopped. He released a spluttering cough before hunching forward and vomiting on the grass.

Knute's heart was thundering in his chest. "Are you alright?"

"No." Grunting with the effort, the man managed to stand upright. "I'm dying."

"What? Ah. Hospital. Ambulance. I'll call for an ambulance." Knute fumbled in the side pocket of his backpack, searching for his cellphone.

The man groaned and clutched his stomach. Knute took a step closer, wondering if he should try and support the man, but the man growled at Knute. "I've been poisoned. I've been fucking poisoned."

"What?"

"They named themselves." The man took a staggering step forward. "They named themselves." Then he crumpled to the ground and started retching blood onto the grass.

Knute's stomach rolled over in revulsion. "What? What are you talking about? Should I call an ambulance?" He pulled his cellphone out of his backpack.

"The Houses."

Those two words alone were enough to stop Knute from calling the hospital. Cellphone clutched in his hand, Knute lifted his head and stared at the crumpled figure before him. Blood dribbled from the corner of the man's mouth. He released a hacking cough, spraying blood onto the ground. In the dim light of the silver moon, Knute could see that the veins in the man's forehead had turned black and like a spider web, they crisscrossed beneath his skin.

"Tell the Houses."

The man knelt at Knute's feet, bent over until his forehead touched the ground. Blood dripped from the man's mouth and pooled onto the ground. His hands and head twitched madly for a minute before he shit himself and the smell of urine filled Knute's nose. Then, the man fell still and died.

Knute couldn't move. What should he do?

A spring breeze swept through the garden.

Knute open and closed his trembling fists, hoping to calm his muscles, but soon his whole body was shivering. Chills ran up and down his spine, spreading across his skin until Knute was convinced that the Houses were going to find him and kill him. It was over. It was all over. Not even his talent could protect him from the Houses.

Perhaps what he did next was not the right thing to do, but in his petrified state, it was the only thing he was capable of doing.

Knute turned and fled, leaving the dead man kneeling face down in the dirt.

* * *

**Five**

Allison found Nathaniel where she always found Nathaniel, sitting in the kitchen with a cup of hot chocolate wrapped in his long, thin fingers. Nathaniel stared at the steaming mug with the same intense expression that he always wore after a fight with his father. He didn't even notice as Allison crossed the kitchen and turned on the self-heating kettle. The click of the switch yanked Nathaniel from his thought. He looked over his shoulder, placing one hand on the edge of the stool to provide balance, and finally caught sight of Allison.

"You were out past curfew again," he said.

"You got into a fight again," she said.

Nathaniel turned back to his hot chocolate. "Father found my acceptance letter from Shion College of Arts and Sciences."

"You were accepted?" Allison opened the cupboard door above the kettle and pulled out a box of hot chocolate mix.

"I assume so. I never actually got to see the letter."

"I take it Robert wasn't happy." Allison chose a packet of hot chocolate and then put the box away. She opened the packet and poured it into an empty mug. "Why do you want to go to college so badly? The Cadmus can provide any education you desire."

"It's not about the education," said Nathaniel. "It's about the experience. I want to know the People outside of what the Cadmus has taught me."

The kettle clicked as the water reached boiling. Allison poured the steaming water into the mug and watched the water mix with the grainy chocolate until it formed a smooth dark brown drink. "Do we have marshmallows?"

"Cupboard on your left," said Nathaniel. "Maybe I'm just dreaming. Maybe college is terrible and I'll hate every moment of it—but I'd like the right to decide that for myself. I don't want to not go just because my grandmother told me not to."

Allison opened the cupboard to her left and found a bag of mini marshmallows. She opened the bag and tossed a few marshmallows in her drink. After putting the bag away, she slid into the seat on the opposite side of the table. She let out a long breath as she curled her fingers around the cup and let the warmth spread through her fingertips. Nathaniel smiled and had a sip of his own hot chocolate.

"You have a duty to the Cadmus," said Allison.

"So do you."

"I know. I know that very well." Allison bit her bottom lip. "The Tasking Ceremony is tomorrow. If I fail, the Head's investment in me will have gone to waste."

"I'm not talking about that," said Nathaniel. "I know you're going to score ridiculously high in the Tasking Ceremony."

"You don't know that for sure."

"I do," said Nathaniel. "You burned down two buildings when you were young. A hospital when you were _born_ and—"

"My house when I was six." The sharp edge of pain flashed through her blue eyes, but other than that she betrayed no emotion towards the two events that had resulted in the deaths of both her parents. Practice had perfected her acting abilities. "I didn't do that. I didn't burn down my house and kill my father. That wasn't me. I know the Head thinks it was, but it wasn't me."

Nathaniel frowned. "Witnesses saw. It was a chimera's unseen fire."

"It was _not_ me."

The two of them stared at one another. Finally, Nathaniel took a sip of his hot chocolate and said, "Sabine Leandre has held the position of the strongest for far too long."

"I can't score higher than a 2.82," said Allison. "That's a ridiculous number. Sabine Leandre is a ridiculous woman. I'll be happy if I score higher than a 2.00, then the Head will keep me,"

"You'll score higher," said Nathaniel. "And when you do, you must fulfill your duty to the Cadmus."

Allison's grip on the mug tightened. "You know I will always fulfill my duty to the Cadmus."

"Even if it is an engagement to the heir of the Cadmus?"

Allison gritted her teeth. "If the Head believes I am a suitable wife for you, then I will accept the engagement."

"You're a Nameless," said Nathaniel. "The Nameless aren't supposed to have loyalty."

"I have loyalty."

"I know you do." Nathaniel smiled at her before taking another sip of his hot chocolate. "But the Head won't believe that until she sees it. She'll want to tied to the Cadmus permenantly through marriage. And you know if you score above a 2.50 in the Tasking Ceremony, she'll have you compete for the Warrior's Seat."

Allison paled at the thought. "But I don't want the Warrior's Seat."

"You must fulfill your duty to the Cadmus," said Nathaniel in a dull voice. It was a tune he had sung many times over. They both had.

Allison ran her figners through her white-blonde hair. "I have a boyfriend."

"Then I hope you score low in the Tasking Ceremony."

"But then the Head will throw me out."

"Then I hope you score high in the Tasking Ceremony."

Allison closed her eyes. She took a deep breath. Then, she opened her eyes and lifted the steaming hot chocolate to her lips. The liquid burned her mouth, but she swallowed it anyway. "I don't have much of a choice."

"There is no choice," said Nathaniel. "Break up with the boyfriend already."

"I won't," said Allison stubbornly. "He's my happiness."

"You'll have to if you remain in the Cadmus."

"I know." Allison took another sip of the scalding hot chocolate. "I don't like this brand."

"I don't mind it," said Nathaniel. "Southern Mountain is better though."

"Southern Mountain is the best," said Allison. "Why didn't you buy it?"

"The store was out and I needed a hot chocolate fix."

"I always need a hot chocolate fix," said Allison. "Even if it is not as good as Southern Mountain."

Nathaniel lifted his mug to his mouth and gulped down the last dregs of hot chocolate. He got to his feet and placed the mug in the sink for the kitchen servants to clean in the morning.

"I'm going to bed," said Nathaniel. "You should to. It' almost midnight."

"When I finish," said Allison, lifting her mug into the air for Nathaniel to see.

Nathaniel headed for the exit, but he paused in the doorway, his hand resting on the wooden frame. "You really should break up with him."

Allison smiled grimly. "I know."

* * *

**All reviews are appreciated! Let me know what makes sense, what doesn't make sense, etc. Y'all are awesome and I'm still working on my other stories, I swear!**


	2. The Chamber

**2. The Chamber**

**33 Day of Spring, 1288**

* * *

**One**

The insects had already gotten to Hendrik Aegon's body. Ants crawled over the back of his neck and beneath his short-cropped black hair. Dietrich fought to keep the revulsion off his face. He'd seen many dead bodies in his time, but it was different when he knew the person who had died. They had the same features, Dietrich and Hendrik. The same slanted eyebrows and the same upturned nose. They had the same black eyes. Dietrich could see his own face in the place of his uncle's. He could see the ants, with their thin legs, crawling up his nostrils, over his eyes, through his hair, and along the back of his neck. Dietrich could see his body in Hendrik's place, his knees bent beneath his chest and his face blackened by poison, lying face down in a puddle of blood amongst the trampled flowers of the Hornless Goat's Garden.

A shiver ran up Dietrich's spine and he turned away from the body. The coroner stood behind the metal fence, waiting for the investigation to finish with the crime scene so he could take the body away.

Dietrich scowled at the coroner before turning his attention back to the body.

"He died by poison," said Heiner.

Heiner was Dietrich's cousin. His father and mother were siblings of Dietrich's father, Theodore Aegon. Until thirty years ago, the Aegon Family permitted incest and polygamy, so Dietrich's family tree became complex and twisted in some places. Despite being cousins, Heiner looked nothing like Dietrich. Where Dietrich was tall, with a sturdy build and the vivid, red hair that all of his mother's children had, Heiner was all skin and bones with the stereotypical black Aegon hair.

"I know he died by poison," said Dietrich. "What kind of poison?"

"I don't know," said Heiner. "Scorpion?"

"Don't guess. Never guess."

"Sorry. Of course."

Dietrich spared but a glance for his cousin. "Never mind. I'll ask Sascha later. Write down the symptoms."

"Black veins," said Heiner, pulling a phone out of his pocket and typing the list onto the notepad. "Bleeding in the stomach. Swollen eyes."

"Vomiting," said Dietrich, gesturing towards a patch of the flowerbed that was splattered with red and yellow liquid.

"Yeah." Heiner typed it into his phone. "His neck is swollen too."

"Write it down." Dietrich stepped over the puddle of vomit and surveyed his uncle's body from behind. The Head would not be pleased. Hendrik Aegon had held the General's Seat for over ten years and the Head was banking on Hendrik to win the Seat again. But now Hendrik was dead and, with the Readjustment Period coming up, the other Houses would be scrambling for possession of the Seat.

"How was he poisoned?" murmured Dietrich.

"Are you asking me?" asked Heiner nervously.

Dietrich tore his eyes away from Hendrik's body and glanced at his cousin. "If you have an answer, please, tell me. If not, quiet."

"I have, um, guesses."

"Don't guess," said Dietrich, turning his attention back to the corpse. "Look at the scene. Was he alone when he died?"

"I don't know." Heiner looked at Dietrich expectantly.

Dietrich fought back a sigh. They had been investigation partners for two seasons now and already Heiner had come to rely on Dietrich's talent. That was never a good thing. Heiner should learn to scrutinize the scene without depending on someone else's abilities.

Nevertheless, Dietrich took a step back from the body and took a deep breath. He found his excess soul brimming beneath the surface of his mind. It simmered away like a boiling pot of water, burning to be used.

Dietrich had been born with talent—the talent to see the paths of people's souls.

He cast out his excess soul into the surrounding area and when he opened his eyes, the world was filled with colors that others couldn't see, the colors of souls.

Dietrich's own soul was thick and red, leaving long heavy strokes of crimson where Dietrich had moved through the garden. Heiner's soul surrounded his body in a pale yellow light, leaving a string of yellow where he had walked.

There were the traces of other souls throughout the garden. Excluding the faint paths of people who had passed through over the past couple days and the paths of Dietrich and Heiner, there were ten soul paths in the garden. Hendrik's soul, usually a thick, dark green, had become a putrid green and its path had faded to a thin, translucent line. The coroner's soul was stringy and pale green; he was of the People and his soul path, rather than leaving behind a line, left more a dotted path—the drip, drip, drip of the water into the bucket, to use the popular metaphor for a soul. Then there were the traces of three souls moving across the garden and coming to a halt over Hendrik's body. According to the report, three women of the People had discovered the body on their way to work. The paths of their souls were faint droplets of navy blue, orange, and gold-yellow. At the far side of the garden, by the gateway, were the paths of the four police officers that had protected the scene from contamination—a thick blue soul, a thin violet soul, a pale green soul, and a vibrant green soul.

There was one unaccounted for soul. A thick, bronze soul that Dietrich had never seen before.

Dietrich focused his excess soul on this bronze path and the thick lines became clearer. The person had passed through the garden, stopping about where Hendrik had collapsed. Then, the person left the garden in a hurry, the line growing thinner as the person moved at a quicker pace.

Dietrich thought he knew every strong soul in Shion. There was the fat, lilac soul of Sabine Leandre, the smog-colored soul of her bodyguard Bastien Charlot, the smoking, blue soul of Peter Oswalk, the heavy, burnt-orange soul of Dietrich's own mother Third Lady Emilie Mathilde-Aegon, the brilliant, dark-red soul of Adam Aegon, and the thick, black soul of Robert Cadmus. If there was anyone whose strong soul he hadn't seen, it was Allison Tveit's—and that was because the Cadmus kept her well hidden.

For a second, Dietrich wondered if the thick, bronze soul belonged to Allison Tveit—but logic told him that the Cadmus would not let their precious Nameless chimera anywhere near the South District late at night.

No. This had to be someone new. Someone unconnected to the Houses. A powerful, undiscovered Nameless chimera.

"I found someone," said Dietrich.

"Who?" Beneath the glow of his yellow soul, Heiner's eyes widened with interest.

"I don't know."

Dietrich glanced down at his uncle's body. An image flashed through his mind—the image of a man and a small, red-haired boy talking in excited voices about the colors that no one else could see. Dietrich looked away.

"We'll find out." Dietrich walked across the garden, his eyes fixed on the bronze soul path. As he passed the coroner, Dietrich said, "You can take the body now."

* * *

**Two**

Nathaniel knew Allison was terrified.

She did a great job of keeping an easy smile on her face and her trembling hands clasped together so that no sign of fear was displayed. But Nathaniel knew she was frightened. How could she not be frightened?

Nathaniel had been shaking from head to toe on the day of his own Tasking Ceremony. While Tasking Number wouldn't determine who was to be the heir, it would influence the Head's decision. Michael, who two years older, had come out of the Tasking Ceremony with an impressive 2.46 to match his ability to induce a state of sleep. Before Nathaniel even stepped foot in the Tasking Chamber, everyone knew that he was not strong enough to score higher 2.46—but that didn't stop his parents from hoping. When Nathaniel came out of the Tasking Chamber with a 1.64, his parents had been beyond disappointed. His father had yelled at him and his mother had said nothing at all. The Head had only murmured her congratulations before returning to the Cadmus Mansion.

Two years later, Allison's Tasking Ceremony had a similar sense of pressure about it. Ever since Allison had been taken into the Cadmus, the Head had anticipated this day. Even if Allison was convinced that she didn't start the fire that killed her father, the Head was certain that Allison was the chimera that would help place the Cadmus above the other two Houses. And today was the day where the Head's investment would either pay off or not.

All potential chimeras supported by the Houses were brought to the Tasking Chamber to receive their Numbers. In keeping with tradition, the Tasking Ceremony would begin at three o'clock in the afternoon thirty-three days after the potential chimera's twenty-third birthday. The potential chimera would enter the chamber and spent three minutes inside. Once the three minutes had passed, the chamber would announce the Number in the red-sand hourglass embedded in the wall next to the entrance to the Chamber.

The Tasking Chamber was located in the basement of the Grand Hall of Shion—a huge, white building with a dome roof and four spires reaching towards the sky. Most of the political matters of Shion took place in the Grand Hall—press conferences, planning for city events, and the meetings of the Five Seats.

The hallway outside the Tasking Chamber was just as expensive as the rest of the Grand Hall. The floor was made smooth, white marble from the northern country of Laque, the walls were made of a rich, black wood from the Island of Araceli, and the corridor was decorated with oil paintings from a famous Shion artist, Frederick. The hall was crowded with at least thirty chimera who had come to witness Allison Tveit's Tasking Ceremony. Most of the crowd came from the Cadmus, but a few Aegon and Leandre chimera waited in the hallway as well. Nathaniel wasn't sure if the presence of the other Houses was a good or bad sign.

Nathaniel took a deep breath. He could only hope that Allison's Number was high enough.

Allison seemed so small and pale in comparison to the tall, black door of the Chamber. She kept biting her bottom lip and her eyes kept flickering to the hourglass.

It was the hourglass that would measure Allison's Number. After her three minutes in the Chamber were up, the red sand would fall into the bottom half of the glass in accordance with her power. The gold-paint markings on the side went up to 3.00, the highest possible score.

"It's nearing three." The Head glanced at Allison. "Come here. Stand in front of the entrance."

Head Louisa Cadmus was an elderly woman, though she didn't carry herself that way. Her gray hair was pulled up in a neat bun, exaggerating her high cheekbones and severe facial features. She was a tall, slender woman and wore a velvety, green dress that made her seem even taller.

Allison, however, possessed no such grandness. Nathaniel knew she'd spent hours that morning debating what to wear—what looked nice, but was practical for the Chamber. She'd settled on a simple, light-pink dress with white flats, her long blond hair pulled back with pearl pins.

Allison followed directions and moved to stand in front of the door, facing the Head.

Head Louisa paused, perhaps waiting for Allison to say something, but words seemed beyond Allison at the moment, so Head Louisa said, "It's almost time to begin."

Allison's face was stark white. Her eyes flickered in Nathaniel's direction and he gave her an encouraging nod. Then, her eyes swept over her audience and if possible, she became even paler than before.

"She looks as though she might faint as soon as the Chamber door opens," muttered Robert.

Margaret frowned. "She's not hiding it very well."

"She's trying," said Nathaniel.

The rest of his parents words were lost on Nathaniel as his gaze started to wander. At the far end of the hallway stood Margaret's brother Phillip, the possessor of the Judge's Seat, and his wife Helena Askal-Cadmus.

Their daughter, Adriana, stood with apart from them, her hands clasped behind her back. She was a slender girl of twenty who had inherited her Cadmus father's blond hair, but had her mother's small stature and brown eyes. Michael Cadmus leaned forward to mutter something in Adriana's ear. A smile flickered at her lips, but she said nothing in response. Michael stepped back and folded over his chest, turning his attention back to Allison.

His potential fiancé, realized Nathaniel.

It was strange to think of Michael and Allison as husband and wife. Actually, it was strange for Nathaniel to think of Allison marrying anyone other than himself. Three years after the Head announced Michael and Nathaniel as candidates to be the heir, she'd called the two of them to her office and announced, off the record, that if Allison scored a high Tasking Number, the heir would marry Allison. Ever since that day, Nathaniel had recognized Allison as his future wife. The idea of her marrying Michael or Thom seemed strange and impossible.

Oddly enough, many people said that Michael and Nathaniel had similar appearances. Nathaniel disagreed—Michael was taller and more robust. Other than the Cadmus blond-hair and blue-eyes and their height, Nathaniel thought he had nothing in common with Michael—including their personalities. These differences caused the Cadmus to be divided as to who should be the heir: those who wanted a stricter rule supported Michael, while those who were more open to the People supported Nathaniel.

"What do you think she'll score?"

Margaret's voice pulled her son out of his reverie. Nathaniel glanced at her and then muttered, "I do not know," before turning away.

Michael was talking in hushed tones to his friend George Walder-Cadmus. They both glanced at Peter Oswalk, but paused when they when they realized that Peter was watching them. Peter smirked and waved. Nathaniel didn't blame Michael and George for being surprised; Peter Oswalk was called Louisa Cadmus's savage dog for a reason. When he passed by Peter in the Cadmus Mansion, Nathaniel made a point of staying as far out of Peter's way as possible.

Then, out of the sea of blond heads, Nathaniel spotted the dark-brown hair of the infamous Karsten Geog, possessor of the Master of Coin's Seat and backed by the Aegon. His assistant and wife, a ginger-haired woman named Cassandra, stood next to him in a slimming, black dress. The two of them exchanged quick words, while she took notes on a touch-screen phone.

Bastien Charlot of the Leandre was also present. He was a stocky man with tanned skin and short-cropped hair. His face was grim, as if he had never smiled before in his life—which seemed suitable for the second strongest chimera alive and the personal bodyguard of the Head of the Leandre.

All these big fish, thought Nathaniel, had gathered to see Allison's Tasking Ceremony. To draw Karsten Geog, Bastien Charlot, Peter Oswalk, and Phillip Cadmus away from their work—the Houses were expecting something huge from Allison Tveit.

Nathaniel said a silent prayer to the Ancestor on Allison's behalf.

"It's three o'clock," said Margaret.

Head Louisa nodded and Allison's lower lip trembled ever so slightly; however, when the Head's attention returned to Allison, the calm mask had slid back into place.

"Allison Tveit," said Head Louisa. "On this day, thirty-three days after your twenty-third birthday at three o'clock in the afternoon, you shall enter the Tasking Chamber."

"As the Ancestor grants it." Allison recited the ritual words that Nathaniel knew she'd practiced every morning in front of the washroom mirror for the past few days.

"This Tasking Chamber has been created from of the souls of the Ancestor's enemies. Thieves, murderers, and traitors have merged in the walls of the Chamber. They will test you and they will draw out your power. You will remain in the Chamber for three minutes. During that time your abilities will be measured and your Tasking Number will be revealed in this hourglass."

Allison swallowed. "As the Ancestor grants it."

"Proceed now, Allison Tveit, and may your talent be strong."

"As the Ancestor grants it."

Allison took a deep, shaking breath and turned towards the smooth, black door of the Tasking Chamber. Her audience watched as she took a step forward. And another. And another. Her trembling, white fingertips clasped the door handle. She turned it. The door slid open. Allison kept her back straight and her head held high. She showed no fear. She did not look back. She entered the Tasking Chamber and the door closed firmly behind her, leaving Nathaniel and the others to wait in silence.

* * *

**Three**

The inside of the Tasking Chamber was darkness. Allison couldn't even see her own hands. She couldn't see the floor, but she knew she was standing on it. But the ceiling? The walls? The door? She couldn't see a thing. The room was simply darkness.

She tried to convince herself that there was nothing to fear, but her hands started to quiver and the hairs on her arms stood on end. She held her breath, waiting for whatever was to come. What was the Tasking Chamber going to do to her? The souls of thieves, murderers, and traitors filled the walls of the room. What would they do to her? How did they plan to draw out her talents?

In answer to her question, a soft hiss filled the darkness.

An icy chill filled her stomach. The black outline of a snake appeared in the darkness. A dull, white light with no source illuminated the smooth scales and the curved fangs.

Allison shuddered and took a step back. She felt a low whimper rise in throat.

The snake split into two—the new snake wriggled its head and opened its yellow eyes, while the original snake dropped its head to the ground and slithered closer to Allison.

All at once, she understood how the Chamber worked. It would draw out her abilities through terror. The Chamber would scare her to the point of desperation that she would throw every bit of power she possessed at it in order to survive.

A cobra, its forked tongue flicked out of its mouth, lifted its head above the other two snakes. It unhinged its jaw and from its throat slithered another serpent, which coiled and hissed sharply as it landed on the ground.

Beads of sweat appeared on Allison's forehead as she tried to control her erratic breathing. This was her Tasking Ceremony. There was nowhere to run. Even though every nerve in her body was telling her to run, to get away from the multiplying snakes, their writhing bodies, and their venomous fangs, Allison took a deep breath and remained rooted to the spot.

Nathaniel had described to her many times the feeling of using his talent. It was like reaching inside his being and finding this well of power. Reaching out with his mind, he would find and focus on the object that he wanted to move. Then, he would throw as much of his excess soul as he could at the object.

Through her ragged breathing, Allison tried to do the same. She tried to ignore the snakes that were now slithering over her white flats and coiling around her ankles. She searched, with increasing desperation, for her well of power. There was nothing. She dug deeper. Was there a pool, a pond, a puddle—anything? At this point, Allison wouldn't have minded just a rain drop of excess soul. Her talent had to exist. It had to.

There was another low hiss as a snake wrapped itself around Allison's left leg. Its smooth scales rubbed against her skin.

Allison wrenched her eyes open. She was faced with the sudden, undeniable truth—she had no talent.

The moment she reached this realization, something happened. Something buried deep within her stirred. Like a sleeping animal in the back of Allison's soul, two drowsy blue eyes opened. A yawn. Then the beast leapt forward, and Allison's world slid into darkness.

* * *

**Four**

For the first time in seventeen years, Dani opened her eyes.

And then her legs collapsed beneath her.

She landed on top of a snake. The snake released a high-pitched whine, its fangs dangerously close to Dani's leg.

Dani slapped the snake over the head. "Shut up. I haven't used the body in a long time."

She glanced around the Chamber. Hundreds of snakes covered the floor, sliding over one another, hissing and baring their fangs. Dani wasn't impressed. She placed her hands on the ground, her left thumb brushing against a snake's back, and pushed herself to her feet. She was a little wobbly getting up, but she managed to remember how to stand. She looked around the room, first at the snakes and then at the pitch black around her.

Dani feigned a yawn.

"I thought the souls that rule the Tasking Chamber were supposed to be terrifying," she said. "But honestly, you bore me."

She reached inside and found her excess soul crackling beneath the surface, fighting to be free from its restraints. She pulled down the barriers and unleashed the fire.

The snakes died first. Their hissing turned to shrill screams as their flesh charred black and turned to ash beneath the rage of the unseen fire. Their corpses disappeared before Dani's eyes and she stopped the flow of fire. The unseen flames died away and she was alone, smiling into the darkness.

"Is that all you got?" asked Dani.

The Chamber answered.

Metal bars formed around her, rising from the ground and meeting the ceiling. A tight cage took shape around Dani, boxing her in place. The prison became smaller and smaller, the ceiling closing in until Dani was forced to stoop over and keep her arms pulled in close to her sides. She tried to stand upright, but her head smashed against the metal ceiling. She couldn't move. Against her wishes, her breathing sped up and her throat turned dry.

A searing hatred for her weakness filled Dani. The fire slipped through the cracks that Dani used to contain it and, moment later, Dani gave up all efforts to hold back.

The ceiling, the bars, and the floor of her cage burned to ash and fell away. But the unseen fire did not stop with the cage, it flooded the Chamber. The darkness was gone and Dani could see every inch of the small room. It was a cube with stone walls painted black. Empty of everything except for her and the door.

"Stop!"

A fair man with white-blond hair appeared in front of Dani. A soft smile appeared at his lips and he extended a gentle hand. He touched Dani's shoulder, the warmth of his fingers tingled against her bare skin.

"Allison," he murmured. "Allison, please stop."

Dani bared her teeth. "Don't fuck with me."

Dani threw her excess soul at the man. His scream raked against her ears and she grinned wildly at him. His face was stretched in an eternal wail as his skin blistered, blacked, and turned to dust.

"Is that it?" asked Dani. "Is that all you can give me?"

The unseen fire raged through the Chamber. The heat, though it would kill any other human being, didn't bother Dani in the slightest. The fire was of her soul, it wouldn't harm her body. She let the fire flow and felt herself relax. She was in control. The Chamber could do nothing to harm her now.

To her right, a line of white light appeared in the black wall of the Chamber. Dani turned and saw the door opening. Her three minutes in the Chamber were done.

Though Dani didn't wish to go back to sleep, she knew she couldn't walk out into the open yet. She felt something small and trembling stir behind her soul. Allison was sleeping. Dani relished control of the body for another second before stepping back and allowing Allison's soul to take her place.

* * *

**Five**

Allison remembered. A fire that she could not see. The unseen flames that snapped and snarled as they devoured the walls, the couch, the fireplace, the carpet. The unseen flames that filled the house with black smoke and brought stinging tears to Allison's eyes. How did the fire start? She might have been sleeping or she might have been watching television. She didn't remember. But the image of the house blackening and dying beneath her feet, the burning smell flooding her nostrils and filling her lungs—she remembered that. She remembered crawling from the house, hacking and coughing until her throat blistered from the pain. She remembered watching the house cave in on itself with her father trapped inside. Oh yes, she remembered the fire, the same as the one that now ravaged the Tasking Chamber.

Allison opened her watery eyes and saw the light of the exit, vivid through the darkness of the Chamber. Allison stumbled to the door. Choking on the smoke, she stepped out onto the white marble floor—free of the unseen fire and the memories it carried.

The heat of the Tasking Chamber disappeared, and Allison felt weightless. Her legs gave out beneath her and Allison crumpled at the Head's feet.

Head Louisa's sharp blue eyes surveyed the wall behind Allison and a slow smile curled on her lips.

That might have been the first time Allison had ever seen the Head smile.

* * *

Six

"You came home late last night," said Gudrun Vidar.

Knute paused. The piece of homemade bran bread speared on a fork was halfway on its journey to his mouth. He glanced across the table where his mother watched him through hawkish-eyes.

"Work took longer than I thought," said Knute. The memory sprung forward against his will. There was no way to ignore the bulging eyes, the web of black veins, and the blood dripping from the open mouth. Knute dropped the piece of bread back onto his plate.

"They didn't pay you for your extra hours," said Gudrun.

"It was my fault," said Knute, lying through his teeth.

Dinner at the Vidar household was usually a lying affair. The five family members would sit around the splintering, wooden table, eat whatever meal Gudrun had prepared, and invent stories about what they had done that day—all for the sake of keeping the other family members happy. Knute had told his parents that he delivered groceries in the Third District rather than delivering drugs to raving addicts. His nineteen-year-old sister, Gull, told the family she was working at an expensive restaurant rather than serving customers in the red light district. Knute's youngest sister, Lisabet, told them that she was attending school every day and doing well in her studies while, in reality, she skipped classes to smoke some of the drugs she had stolen from her brother. Konrad told his family about the sales he made for a company that, in fact, had fired him fifteen days earlier. And Gudrun told her family about her outings with friends to cover up her afternoons in bed with her lover.

The Vidar family contained five liars. Five very bad liars, to be more accurate.

"So how is the bread?" asked Gudrun. "Is it good with the jam?"

"Excellent, excellent," said Konrad.

"You're improving," said Gull.

"I like the texture," said Knute.

"It tastes less like cardboard this time," said Lisabet.

Gudrun smiled at her family for a moment before turning to Lisabet. "How was school today?"

"Good." Lisabet pushed . "We're reading about the original Chimera."

"I didn't know you could read," muttered Gull under her breath.

Lisabet shot her sister an irritated glare. "It's a book about how the great Chimera—a vicious beast with three heads—guarded Shion from the corruption of foreigners. Then, before he died, the Chimera told his three children that because they have strong souls they have to protect the People. Anyway, that's where the three Houses come from."

Gull and Knute exchanged amused glances before Gull said, "Did you even read the book?"

"That was the abridged version," snapped Lisabet.

"Calm down, girls," said Gudrun. "No fighting at the dinner table."

"Of course not, ma," said Gull.

"We don't mean to."

Knute found the strength to eat the rest of his dinner. He barely listened to his family's conversation as he focused on consuming the slices of bran bread with bitter fruit jam. Focus on chewing. Nothing else. Not the taste of the jam. Not the texture of the bread. Not the dead body he'd left lying face down in the flowerbed.

"They found the General dead in the Hornless Goat's Garden," said Lisabet.

Knute choked on a bite of bread. He coughed and spluttered, burying his face in the crook of his arm.

"Are you alright?" asked Gull.

"Yeah, yeah." Knute managed to swallow the atrocious bread. "The _General_? As in General Hendrik Aegon?"

"Are you sure you're alright?" asked Lisabet.

Knute nodded. "Yeah. General Hendrik Aegon?"

Gull and Lisabet exchanged bemused glanced before Lisabet said, "Yeah. Three women from the South District were passing through the Hornless Goat's Garden on their way to work. They found him lying face down in a pool of his own blood. They managed to get a few pictures on their cellphones before the police showed up and closed off the area."

"I saw the crowd when I was going to work," said Gull. "I didn't have time to stop."

"Shame," said Lisabet. "Dietrich Aegon showed up not long after the police."

A smile lit up Gull's thin face. "Did you see him? Is he as handsome as they say?"

"Even more so. And people don't lie when they say his hair is as red as the Aegon blood that runs through his veins."

"I should've stopped," said Gull mournfully. "It's not often I get the chance to see Dietrich Aegon."

"I don't understand the appeal," said Knute.

Gull waved her fork at him. "That's because you're a boy."

"He's handsome and smart and rich," said Lisabet. "That's all the information I need."

"How do you know he's smart?" asked Knute. "You've never talked to him before in your life."

"He's one of the chief investigators for the police force and he's only twenty-eight," said Gull. "Of course he's smart."

Gudrun took a bite of her bran bread before saying, "Dietrich Aegon is fine, but I would pick Raoul Leandre over him any day."

Knute pretended that he didn't see the scowl on his father's face.

"Raoul is damn fine," said Lisabet.

Gull nodded. "I saw him in the East District one day—out for a drink. He's attached to those swords of his." She laughed. "Not that I'm complaining. A man who can handle his sword with such expertise is rare, if you know what I mean."

Lisabet laughed, while Knute took a huge bite of bread and pretended that he had no idea what his sisters were talking about.

"As much of an expert as Raoul is," said Lisabet. "I will always prefer Dietrich."

"He's of the Aegon," said Konrad abruptly. All family eyes turned to look as the gray-haired, wrinkled man, slumped back in his seat. Konrad's dark eyes surveyed his daughters and wife before he spoke. "Aegon, Leandre, Cadmus. They're all the same. You're not good enough for them unless you have a strong talent and a Name to go with it."

Gull snorted. "Da, the only one with any _real _talent here is Knute and—as sure as the Chimera's third ball—he won't interest Dietrich Aegon."

"Watch your language," said Gudrun.

"Sorry, ma."

"Do they talk like that at that restaurant of yours?" asked Gudrun.

Gull hesitated for a split second. "Of course not, ma. The customers would be mortified."

"Then don't use those words at my table."

All of a sudden, Knute couldn't take the lies. One of his sisters was a whore and the other was a drug addict. His father was unemployed and his mother was a cheating slut. And he, Knute, sold drugs to people who needed _help_, not more drugs. And now, he was the only witness to the murder of General Hendrik Aegon. After fleeing the crime scene, he would be treated as a suspect rather than a witness if he came forward with what he knew. Knute suddenly felt sick to his stomach. This family. This lying, deceitful family had the nerve to look down on Dietrich Aegon and Raoul Leandre as if they were piece of meat to be ogled at and then insulted.

Almost stumbling, Knute rose from the table. His mother asked him where he was going and Knute mumbled something about bed. He placed his dishes in the sink and headed to the backroom that he shared with his two sisters. The Vidar apartment only had two bedrooms—one for his parents and one for their three children. Lisabet and Gull shared a single bed while Knute slept on a cot. Often, Knute dreamed of saving up enough money to buy his own place. It didn't have to be fancy. It didn't even have to have a separate bedroom. Knute would sleep on a couch if he had to—all Knute wanted was the space. But, of course, that wasn't possible on his measly income.

Knute pushed open the door to his bedroom. It bumped against the side of his cot and stopped, opened just far enough for Knute to be able to squeeze through.

Knute kicked off his shoes and stepped onto the creaking cot.

Despite living in one of the poorest parts of Shion, having an apartment on the tenth floor of the building gave him a perfect view through the small, dusty window. If Knute stood on top of his cot, he could peer out through the dusty window and see the vast expanse of the city. Straight ahead, he could see the white marble dome of the Grand Hall of Shion and the towering, fifty-story office buildings of the East District. If he looked to the left, Knute could see the roof of the sleek, six-story Aegon Mansion, and, in the distance, far to Knute's right, was the faded-green roof of the Cadmus Mansion. Even though they weren't visible from Knute's window, he knew the bronze and granite Leandre Mansion was located somewhere to his right and the vast, salt-water Lake Lycia lay to his left.

After soaking in the evening view, where the city was bathed in brilliant orange light, Knute closed his eyes and sunk onto his cot, leaning back against the wall.

"Knute Vidar?"

His eyes snapped open and Knute found himself staring at a wiry, black-haired, black-eyed man who was holding out a badge in his right hand.

Knute opened his mouth to scream, but before he could get a sound out, the man said, "Hendrik Aegon."

The name was enough to stop Knute. He stared, wide-eyed, at the stranger in his room.

"You were in the garden at the time of the General's death." The man held up the police badge for Knute to see.

"How?" gasped Knute. "How do you know that?"

"I'm the projection of Detective Heiner Aegon of the Police Force." He paused, as if listening to someone and then added, "I'm waiting outside with my partner Detective Dietrich Aegon. He would like to talk to you."

"Projection?" Knute gripped the edge of his cot. "You're an Aegon chimera?"

"We are detectives for the Police Force," said Heiner. "We need to talk to you."

The projection shimmered and then disappeared, leaving Knute alone in his bedroom, staring at the spot where an Aegon chimera had been moments before.

* * *

**Seven**

Dietrich crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. The lanky boy from the slums sat on the opposite side of the kitchen table, clutching a cup of coffee. Though he'd accepted the coffee when Dietrich offered some, Knute refused to drink any of it and kept glancing at the mug as though the coffee might be poisoned. He ran his fingers through his mop of brown hair every two minutes, a nervous habit. The boy—technically not a boy since he was twenty-four-years-old, but he was so scrawny that Dietrich couldn't think of him as anything other than a boy—looked as though he belonged in the slums. His shirt was a size too large and his shoes had been worn down to the bones. It was a bit shocking that this pitiful boy was the owner of the blazing, bronze soul.

Dietrich and Heiner had followed the trail from the scene of Hendrik Aegon's death. The trail led him through the streets of Aegon and into the filthy, wet slums with its beggars who slept under newspaper blankets and skeletal children who begged for money. Eventually, they'd reached the apartment of the Vidar family. They found the neighbors were more than happy to tell Dietrich and Heiner all about the Vidar family for a bit of coin. From all the information and rumors he'd heard from the gaggle of aging women, Dietrich had gathered that Knute Vidar was desperately poor and dying to be free of his family—and that was all the information Dietrich needed to get what he wanted.

"Is there something wrong with the coffee?" asked Dietrich.

Knute glanced up, his gaze going straight Dietrich's dark, red hair. Always the hair, thought Dietrich, it was his signature mark. Whenever Dietrich had to conduct investigations, he wore a cap to cover his hair—sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. It was the burden that was laid upon all of Emilie Mathilde-Aegon's children, the foreigners of the Aegon.

"No." Knute lifted the coffee to his lips and took the smallest sip possible. "It's good."

"You know," said Dietrich. "My half-sister, Sascha, studies poisons as a hobby. She told me about this one poison—taken from a red-eyed frog found in the swamps of Ciosaoles—that takes only a small drop to kill a man. The heart swells to twice its natural size until the blood vessels burst. A gruesome and painful way to go, I think."

Knute paled and glanced down at the coffee.

Dietrich's mouth twitched into a faint smile. "I'm joking. If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn't have bothered bringing you to my home."

"This is your house?" asked Knute, his dark eyes widening with surprise.

Dietrich nodded. At the age of twenty-three, when he was legally an adult, Dietrich had refused to live in the Aegon Mansion any longer. It was an unspoken rule that no member of the Aegon lived outside the Mansion. However, being the golden child with the invaluable eyes, Dietrich generally got whatever he wanted while his siblings watched in envy. His father's compromise was to let Dietrich build a small house on the grounds of the Mansion—separate from the family, but not so far away that the Aegon couldn't control him.

Dietrich's full-blood sister, Magda, had helped him design the house, and in return, he allowed her to stay in his home whenever she desired. The kitchen that Dietrich and Knute sat in had russet-colored counter tops with cupboards and furniture made of bleached white oak. The table was colored slightly darker than the countertops and had three chairs pulled up around it with the fourth side of the table being pushed up against the window that overlooked the flowerbeds.

"Sorry my partner had to project into your room," said Dietrich, his index finger tracing the rim of his own empty coffee mug. "I hate to do that, but this part of the investigation is best done in secret. If we'd knocked on your apartment door, your whole family would've known. We'd rather call you down and talk to you in private."

"Nothing is done in secret with your red hair," said Knute suddenly. After a moment, Knute seemed to realize what he'd just said. He blushed and took another sip of his coffee to cover up his mistake. "It's funny. My sisters were just talking about you before you, um."

"Summoned you for investigative purposes," said Dietrich. "The police have the right to drag suspects in for questioning—Heiner and I chose to take the polite route."

Knute swallowed. "Where is your partner?"

"Reporting to the Head." Dietrich checked his cellphone for any new messages before he spoke again. "I need your help."

"You need my help?"

"Yes. I need your help to apprehend my uncle's murderer."

Knute's face paled. "Your uncle?"

"General Hendrik Aegon. Perhaps you've heard of him?"

"Of course, I've heard of him." Knute determinedly avoided making contact. "Who hasn't heard of him?"

"He's dead," said Dietrich.

Knute swallowed. "I'm sorry."

"Yes, well, it happens." Dietrich traced the rim of his empty coffee mug with his thumb. "I'm here to investigate. I visited the scene of the crime today and that led me to you."

"To me?" squeaked Knute, quickly glancing up at Dietrich and then back down at the table.

"You saw my uncle die," said Dietrich.

Knute hesitated for a second. Dietrich could see the debate run through Knute's mind—to deny the truth or to tell the truth. Which one would be more beneficial?

"You're a chimera," said Dietrich with a hint of impatience in his voice.

Knute frowned. "How do you know that?"

"From your neighbors," lied Dietrich.

"Oh."

"You've never been trained."

"No."

"That wasn't a question." Dietrich smiled. "From what I've heard you have a strong soul."

Knute frowned. "Soul?"

"Excess soul is what gives you talent," said Dietrich. "But that's not the point. The point is that the Aegon House likes to invest in strong souls. And, perhaps, if you show promise, the Aegon might invest in _you_."

Dietrich could see the cogs working in Knute's head. The word "invest" had put a spark in Knute's eyes. The promise of a future beyond the slums gave Knute the strength to lift his head and meet Dietrich's gaze directly.

"I didn't kill your uncle if that's what you think," said Knute. "I found him. Or, rather, he found me. I was taking a shortcut home through the Hornless Goat's Garden when the General called out to me—I didn't know who he was at the time." Knute swallowed. "He was already poisoned at that point. His face blackening and his eyes bloodshot. He threw up too. He threw up blood." Knute took a trembling breath before continuing. "He knew he was dying—I think he called out to me so that I could pass on a message. He told me to tell the Houses…" Knute stopped and frowned.

"What did he want to tell the Houses?" asked Dietrich.

"I don't understand, really. He said 'they named themselves.'"

"What?"

"He said '_they named themselves_.' I don't understand it either, but he kept saying it over and over again. They named themselves."

"Who named themselves?"

Dietrich spoke aloud more for his own benefit, but Knute saw fit to answer, "I don't know."

Dietrich glanced across the table at Knute. "He said to tell the Houses? All the Houses? Not just Aegon?"

"All the Houses," said Knute. "I didn't even know he was of the Aegon until my sister told me who he was at dinner."

Dietrich nodded. Then whatever had killed the General was a threat not only to Aegon but to all three Houses—which meant that it wasn't the Cadmus or the Leandre that killed the General. It was something else. Perhaps a member of a House who was working separately. Or perhaps a Nameless. An idea began forming in Dietrich's mind, but he needed a little more information to confirm it.

"And you saw him die?" asked Dietrich.

"Yes."

"What did you do?"

Knute was staring down at the table again. "I was afraid. I thought I might be blamed for his death. He was connected to the Houses. I was scared. I didn't know. So I fled."

Dietrich nodded. "Death is frightening thing. Particularly murder."

Knute face was pale and he teetered on the edge of the stool as though he might pass out at any moment. Dietrich felt a wave of pity for Knute. A strong chimera without a Name had little future if he didn't like violence. Most strong Nameless chimera worked either in the Police Force or for one of the Houses. Some of the Nameless managed to work their way into government positions, but they were, for the most part, the weak chimera who could serve the Houses in no other way except as political puppets. If he wanted to join the Houses and pull himself out of the slums, Knute would have to learn to accept death with a stony face.

"I'll need you to tell this story a few more times," said Dietrich.

Knute frowned. "To who? Once isn't enough?"

"To the Head of the Aegon," said Dietrich. "For now. Perhaps to the whole family. My father has called a family meeting to discuss my uncle's death and its repercussions. You might have to recount the story during that meeting. It depends on the Head's wishes."

After taking a deep breath, Knute asked, "Will the Aegon family invest in me?"

"Maybe. I'm not the Head. That decision will be left to my father."

Knute bit his lip. "I have a job. It's a job I can't leave easily."

"If you're talking about your job as a drug dealer," said Dietrich. "The Aegon has ways of making the problem disappear. However, you have to prove to the Aegon that you're worth the effort." Dietrich paused to check his cellphone again. Still no contact from Heiner. Sliding the phone back into his pocket, Dietrich said, "You're twenty-four. Have you been given a Tasking Number yet?"

"Tasking Number?"

"I'll take that as the negative." Dietrich drummed his fingers on the edge of the table. "Tell me about your talent."

"I can move things. Large things are easier than little things. I moved a fallen tree out of the road in the South District."

"Large things?" asked Dietrich.

Knute nodded. ".I moved a house once."

"A house?"

"My aunt had a crooked floor in her house. When we visited, she kept complaining about how objects would slide to the far side of the room. I got fed up with her complaining, so…" Knute shrugged. "I moved the house until the floor was straight." A grin spread across his face. "But I broke a water pipe in the process, and she had bigger problems than a crooked floor."

Dietrich smirked. "How old were you?"

"Five." Knute's fingers curled around the coffee mug. "Before that I'd only ever moved food and toys."

"Some of the stronger souls take time to reveal themselves," said Dietrich.

"Souls?"

"Of course. You haven't been tutored in the Houses." Dietrich sighed. "I hate this metaphor—imagine the soul as a bucket of water with a tap running into it. When the bucket is full to the brim with water, that is the soul. For the People, the tap drips into the bucket so that only a little water spills over the edge at a time. For the chimera, the water flows out of the tap at varying degrees of strength. The water spills over the bucket in large amounts and we—the chimera—can harness this excess soul and use it. That's what we call _talent_. Your talent is to move objects. My talent is to see the paths of people's souls. Because the water is spilling over the edges of the bucket, it leaves traces behind. Not only can I see the color and power of someone's soul, but I can see the recent paths of where their souls have been. The People leave a dotted trail because they don't have a lot of water spilling over the edges of their buckets. Weak chimera leave thin, pale lines, while strong chimera leave thick, heavy lines."

"So you found me using those lines?" asked Knute.

Dietrich chose to ignore the obvious answer. "When I was little, I used to follow my siblings with those lines. I could figure out everything they'd done that day. I knew that Cord spilled juice on father's favorite jacket. I knew that Magda had borrowed mother's lipstick and accidentally dropped it on the bathroom floor. I knew everything because of those little paths."

Once Dietrich had gotten started, he couldn't stop. His gaze was transfixed on the dregs of coffee at the bottom of his mug.

"When I was ten, I followed my half-brother Marius's path. He was sixteen. I couldn't figure him out and that's what bothered me. His path would lead me to the garden where it would merge with another soul. The soul of the gardener's assistant, Alfred. I followed Marius's soul path a few more times and each time his soul path would join with Alfred's. At the time, I couldn't understand the meaning of two soul paths merging—but, I figured it out eventually, Marius was having an affair with the gardener's assistant. The _male_ gardener's assistant."

Dietrich glanced across the table at Knute. There was twisted, conflicted expression on Knute's face. His eyebrows were knitted together and his lips were partially open in an unspoken question. Finally, Knute worked up the courage to ask, "What happened to Marius and Alfred?"

"I don't remember."

He didn't remember. Not at all. He didn't remember asking his stepmother why Marius and Alfred were so close. He didn't remember playing with his brothers in the garden and Cord coming across the gardener's assistant floating facedown in the river. He didn't remember hearing his stepmother scream. He didn't remember following her into the study as seeing Marius suspended from the chandelier by a rope. Nope. Dietrich didn't remember at all.

"I think," said Knute. "I like my talent better than yours."

Dietrich smiled. "I think I like yours better too."

* * *

**Please review! **


	3. The Number

**3. The Number**

**34 Day of Spring, 1288**

* * *

**One**

The Leandre Mansion had one of the greatest views of the sunrise in all of Shion. It was the largest and oldest building in the Third District and had been built specifically for the sunrise so that the large bay window on the fifth floor faced the sunrise. The east side of the grounds contained a small forest of beech trees. When the sun rose in the morning, it would peek over the treetops, casting spiked shadows across the white marble pillars at the entrance of the Leandre Mansion and bathing the front halls of the fourth and fifth floors with orange light. During the later hours of the morning, when the sun had risen fully, the halls would be warm and golden, and Raoul liked to take drowsy walks through the mansion, enjoying the silence and the view.

By this time, the chimera who worked in politics had gone to the Great Hall of Shion and those who worked at the police station had strapped on their uniforms and departed. Raoul, whose job mainly involved hanging around the mansion and ensuring that no one tried to kill the Head, was free to do what he wished.

The last time someone had threatened Marcel's life was two months ago, and the attempt had been half-hearted at best—a Nameless chimera tried to shoot Marcel. Bastien had stopped the bullet and Raoul had taken down the chimera. No harm done. Raoul hadn't even broken a sweat.

So, instead of doing his job, Raoul strolled through the halls of Leandre, basking in the sunlight with his hands in his jean pockets. He strolled past the Leandre finance offices on the third floor and then past the legal department on the fourth floor. On the fifth floor, there was a white loveseat and a little table next to one of the large windows that overlooked the cloudless sky and the beech tree forest. Raoul was debating taking a nap in the loveseat when his solitude was interrupted.

"Fancy seeing you here."

Standing behind the loveseat was the most impossibly gorgeous woman Raoul had ever seen. Sabine Leandre, Lady of the Leandre and current occupant of the Warrior's Seat, smiled and settled into the loveseat beside Raoul. She was wearing her usual jeans and t-shirt, preferring to dress for comfort rather than to fit her station. Her straight, auburn hair was pulled up in a ponytail and she wore no make-up, but _damn _she looked good at nine in the morning.

"I'm just enjoying the view," said Raoul.

"Shouldn't you be guarding the Head?" Sabine asked even though she knew very well the answer to that question.

"Bastien is taking care of Marcel," said Raoul. "The Head hardly needs both of us."

"Oh yes," said Sabine, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. "Bastien is taking good care of my husband. I don't think Marcel would know quite what to do with the both of you."

Raoul suppressed a sigh. He was convinced that he could turn Marcel, Sabine, and Bastien's love lives into an award-winning television drama.

"Marcel does his duty as the Head," said Raoul.

"Every once in a while."

"Do you mind?" asked Raoul. "You don't see me trying to bite your head off at nine in the morning."

"That's because you're paid to keep me in one piece."

Raoul pointed to the black scabbard strapped to his side. "They're right here. You may be the strongest chimera alive, my Lady, but I'm not putting up with your pissy morning moods."

"Yeah, yeah, you're right." Sabine folded her arms over her chest and leaned back in the loveseat. "Haven't you heard the news? I'm not the strongest anymore."

Raoul frowned. "Allison Tveit?"

"Her Tasking Number is a 3.33."

Raoul opened his mouth to say something, but he quickly closed it again. He couldn't put words to what he was feeling. He couldn't even comprehend what Sabine had just told him. Finally, he managed to stammer, "_How_ did she get a 3.33? I thought a 3.00 was the highest you can get."

"I don't know either," said Sabine. "In the top half of the hourglass, there is only enough sand to reach the 3.00 marker—but everyone present at her Tasking Ceremony swears that as the sand poured into the bottom half of the hourglass, it reached above 3.00. They had to measure the height with a ruler because the markings on the hourglass don't go up to a 3.33."

"That's insane," said Raoul.

"I know," Sabine tipped her head back and stared up at the white ceiling. "They say she fainted right after leaving the Tasking Chamber."

"There must've been some kind of mistake," said Raoul. "A 3.33? That's not possible."

"It is. Bastien told me last night. He was present at the ceremony."

Raoul turned his head away from Sabine and stared out the bay window at the vast grounds of the Leandre. A gardener, dressed in a beige uniform, was watering the petunias with care. Raoul watched as the elderly man, who had been working for the Leandre all his life, walked doggedly amongst the flourishing flowerbeds with a watering can.

Raoul took a deep breath. "Are you alright, Sabine?"

She seemed surprised at first, but then her shoulders relaxed and her smile became genuine. "Of course, I am. When am I not alright?"

She got to her feet, leaving Raoul alone on the loveseat. "I've got to go. Unlike my lazy-ass bodyguard, I have a job that requires effort."

Raoul grinned. "I don't get your meaning, my Lady."

Sabine rolled her eyes and walked past Raoul, continuing to the Leandre finance offices. The moment she disappeared from sight, Raoul collapsed back onto the loveseat, his mind raking over the idea of a 3.33 chimera.

* * *

**Two**

Dietrich Aegon and his half-blood sister Sascha were only one year apart in age. He'd known her back when she was a skinny, pink-faced girl who liked to run about the gardens, causing trouble for the workers. The years had changed both of them, of course, but even though, Sascha had grown into her long legs and started wearing adult women's clothes, Dietrich always thought of her as the nine-year-old girl who considered pigtails the height of fashion. And even though, Sascha had accepted a job as the Head of the Aegon's errand girl and gained a reputation as an expert poisoner, Dietrich still couldn't believe her as anything other than the snot-nosed brat who liked to make mud pies in the gardens after a heavy rain shower.

There was something to be said, however, for having a poisons expert as a half-sister. Dietrich's relationship with Sascha was helpful in his line of work—especially when his job involved investigating the poisoning of General Hendrik Aegon.

Leaning against the wall to avoid being jostled by the crowd of family members, Sascha chatted with her full-blood brother Adrian in the hallway outside the Stateroom. Dietrich caught her lightly by the arm and turned her around to face him. Sascha's eyes widened in surprise at the sight of the red hair, but then a smile caught her as she recognized his face.

"I haven't seen you in an age," said Sascha, giving him a quick hug. "What've you been up to?"

"Working. I need your help."

"Really?" asked Sascha. "That doesn't happen often."

Dietrich glanced over Sascha's shoulder suspiciously. Adrian, barely sixteen and pimply, was listening keenly. Dietrich smiled at Adrian before, hand still clasped on Sascha's forearm, moving the conversation out of earshot.

Sascha's eyes glowed with interest as she gazed up at Dietrich. "A secret?"

"Top secret," said Dietrich. "Let me find a spare room."

"I do love secrets." Sascha linked her arm with his and steered him down the hallway that circled the Stateroom.

The crimson carpet was illuminated under the aureate lights, and the red oak walls supported photographs of various members of the Aegon House. Distracted by the portraits on the wall, Dietrich almost walked into a heavy-set man with a receding hairline. Sascha pulled Dietrich out of the way at the last second and, tearing his eyes away from his own portrait, Dietrich forced himself to focus on the crowd. The members of the Aegon House were gathering in the hallway around the Stateroom for the family meeting. A few curious eyes surveyed Sascha and Dietrich, but for the most part, the fathers, mothers, grandfathers, grandmothers, aunts, uncles, cousins, and siblings kept their spying covert.

"Here."

Sascha turned down a side hallway, dragging Dietrich along with her. She found an open room on their right and, giving the door a heavy shove, stepped inside. It was a sitting room with two black sofas and a gray leather chair surrounding a glass coffee table. Sascha locked the door while, for precautions sake, Dietrich unleashed his talent.

He lowered the barriers just enough for the excess soul to trickle out of him. The colors began to form and take shape around him.

His own red soul burned brightly around him, leaving a thick line from the door to him. Sascha's twisting, purple soul curled about her, vibrant with life. The room also contained the faded paths of people who had come and gone earlier—his father's black soul and his uncle Gereon's gray soul had met for a meeting two days ago. Then, marked by paths less than a day old, two soul had entered the room together—one navy blue and the other purple—the two paths merged on one of the sofas and then separated before leaving the room.

Dietrich glanced at Sascha, who had sat down onto the very same sofa that she had rolled around on the day before.

"Next time," said Dietrich. "Don't take me to your rendezvous spot."

"Sorry." Sascha grinned up at him without remorse. "I didn't realize you were going to check."

"I always check. Uncle Hendrik taught me that."

"You were his favorite nephew," said Sascha. "I had a whole two conversations with him in my life. Once, when I was five, I pulled up all the petunias in the garden and Uncle Hendrik told me to apologize to the gardeners because they worked hard to take care of those flowers."

"And the second time?"

"The same reason people ever talk to me—poison."

Dietrich eyebrows narrowed. "Why did Uncle Hendrik want to know about poison?"

Sascha shrugged. "He wanted to kill someone? Isn't that what poison's for?" She paused. Her mouth opened slightly and then curved into a triumphant smile. "Oh. So Uncle died of poison."

Dietrich drummed his fingers on the back of the gray, leather chair. He regarded Sascha carefully, trying to decide how much to tell her and how much to conceal. All he had to do was say that their father wanted the cause of Hendrik Aegon's death to be kept secret and Sascha would obey without question—but was it worth the risk to tell her?

In the end, Dietrich decided to say nothing in response to Sascha. He pinched the bridge of his nose and asked, "What kind of poison did he ask you about?"

"It's a good poison," said Sascha. "But it leaves obvious signs. If I wanted to poison someone, I'd use something that has no symptoms. The poison Uncle asked about comes from the roots of a weed grown in the South District of Shion. It's called Cobra's Tongue—don't ask me why. The only reason to use that poison is for the delayed effect. It takes about eight days to kill and, if done right, can appear as though the victim died of illness. It kills every time. All it takes is one spoonful and there's nothing to be done. One sip. Eight days. Dead. Easy and effective. But it's detectable."

"What are the symptoms?"

Sascha leaned back into the couch and folded her hands neatly in her lap. She smiled up at Dietrich and asked, "What are you paying me for this information?"

Dietrich suppressed a groan. She only asked for payment when she wanted something from him. "What do you want?"

"Answers."

"To?"

"Uncle Hendrik died from poison," said Sascha. "Am I correct?"

"You know very well that he died from poison," said Dietrich.

"I wanted confirmation from your own mouth. False assumptions can be deadly. Swelling, mainly, in the eyes, the face, the throat, the genitals. The blood will thicken and turn a dark shade of purple—the veins will seem black through the skin. Vomiting is common as well. The victim will sometimes urinate or vomit blood."

Against his will, Dietrich recalled the image of his uncle's puffy, malformed body hunched over in the Hornless Goat's Garden. His arms and forehead stained from the puddle of vomit and blood.

Dietrich nodded. "When did Uncle Hendrik ask you about the poison?"

"Two days ago."

Dietrich sighed. "I have to go talk to the Head."

Sascha pursed her lips. "The symptoms match then. Uncle Hendrik knew he was going to die."

Dietrich was already moving to the door. His excess soul was still flowing through the opening in his defenses and he could see his red soul leave a thick trail behind him. Dietrich threw open the door only to be confronted with the fog of a navy blue soul.

Dietrich pulled his defenses back up and the colors started to fade. His eyesight began to return to normal and as the blue soul ebbed away, Dietrich found himself staring at his eldest half-brother Christoph Aegon.

"I thought I saw Sascha come in here. I hope I'm not interrupting." Christoph stepped into the room, his eyes fixed on Sascha, who, having seen her half-brother in the doorway, had started examining her nails with a planned carelessness.

"Don't take too long," said Dietrich, through gritted teeth. "The meeting will start soon."

* * *

**Three**

For over five hundred years, the Aegon House had held firmly to the tradition of holding family meetings three times a season at minimum. The Aegon household believed it was the most effective way to accomplish their ends as well as have a little family bonding time on the side. Meetings were held on the 1 Day, 31 Day, and 61 Day of each season. So, when the Head of Aegon decided to call a family meeting on the 33 Day of Spring, just two days after the previous family meeting—everyone in the Aegon knew that something big had happened. Something that couldn't wait thirty days to discuss.

The black-haired members of the Aegon filed into the Stateroom with curious eyes and excited murmurs. The seats of the hall were filled within minutes, and the members eagerly anticipated the arrival of the Head and his councilors. The few people who were already aware of the tragedy that had occurred wore somber, strained expressions.

Face still a little flushed from her encounter with Christoph, Sascha Aegon made her way down the stairs of the Stateroom to the front row of seats. Her mind was still spinning back and forth between the heat of Christoph's kisses and the news that General Hendrik Aegon had been poisoned.

Sascha found an empty chair between her mother, Felicie and her eldest sister, Josephine. The two women weren't looking at one another and barely mumbled an answer to Sascha's greeting. Vaguely, Sascha wondered if they knew the reason behind the emergency meeting, but if they did know, they had no desire to discuss it.

The Aegon Stateroom was a dome-shaped room in the heart of the Aegon Mansion. The polished-wood seats with low backs were placed in descending circles, so that every seat could see the long table in the middle of the hall where five empty chairs rested. The hall fit almost eight-hundred people, enough to hold the entire black-haired, black-eyed Aegon family—and, of course, the seven red-heads.

Polygamy was still legal in the Aegon House. The practice had been banned thirty years ago by the Cadmus and the Leandre; however, the Aegon clung its traditions. The marriage of siblings had been outlawed by the Leandre siblings fifty years ago and by the Cadmus forty years ago, but it had taken the Aegon another two decades to ban the practice, and they did so only because a brother and sister gave birth to a homosexual boy.

The other two Houses scorned the Aegon on their inability to reform, while the Aegon, of course, prided themselves on that trait. So, in order to enforce the Aegon's reputation, the practice of polygamy remained and showed no signs of disappearing any time soon.

Head Theodore Aegon had three wives. His first wife was actually his sister, Elsa. She had given him seven children, all black-haired and black-eyed. The first child she gave him was Marius Aegon—the infamous homosexual. After that tragedy, the Head decided to outlaw incest, a rule he strictly enforces.

A cousin, Felicie Aegon, became the second wife of the Head. She bore him eleven black-haired, black-eyed children, one of whom was Sascha. People often commented that Sascha Aegon looked just like her mother, with the same smooth, oval face and the same sharp, almond eyes. They had the same slender build and massive height that allowed them to tower over most men. The comments on their similar appearances were often followed by comments on their different personalities. Where Felicie was sweet and motherly and used her talent to calm the emotions of others, Sascha was proud and vicious and spent her time perfecting the poisoner's art.

The third wife of the Head was not of the Aegon at all. Not only was she a Nameless chimera who the Head married to keep in the grasp of the Aegon, but she was a foreigner from the northern country of Laque. According to rumor, the Head married Emilie Mathilde-Aegon out of love, but Sascha never listened to rumor. She preferred to think of her father as a handsome, intimidating man who never really loved anyone. Especially not a red-haired foreigner.

All six of Emilie's children had inherited her dark red hair, which stood out sorely against the pitch-black of the Aegon family. A quick survey around the hall and Sascha found each and every one of the red-haired siblings. Elena, two seasons pregnant, sat beside her bother Dietrich on the opposite side of the Stateroom. Roden, Magda, and Cord were seated in the back row, laughing and chatting amongst themselves. The youngest, Clare, was standing in the aisle three rows down, talking to her mentor Adam Aegon.

Tearing her eyes away from the atrocious red hair, Sascha glanced across the hall where Elsa, the First Lady of the Aegon, sat with her children. Elsa always insisted on leaving the chair on her right empty in memory of her eldest son, Marius. On the other side of that empty seat was Elsa's second son, Christoph. He had inherited his mother's overly-sharp features, giving him angular cheekbones and slanted eyes.

Christoph glanced over at Sascha and saw that she was staring at him. He smiled at her, which looked odd with his cutting features. Sascha was about to smile back, but she stopped when she realized that Josephine was watching.

"Is it going to start soon?" asked Sascha, stretching her long arms behind her head. "I'm getting stiff joints."

"You're not that old yet," said Felicie.

Sascha dropped her arms back to her sides. "I've been going to the gym more frequently, mother. The Adjustment Period is coming up. I need to be quick on my toes in case father asks me to fight for the Warrior's Seat."

Josephine made a noise that sounded somewhere between a cough and a laugh. It came out as something of a snort. Sascha raised her eyebrows in her sister's direction, but Josephine shook her head.

"You were born to be an errand girl," said Josephine. "As though Father would let you do anything else."

"Well then, I'm just keeping on my toes in case Father needs me to kill anyone." Sascha looked pointedly at her sister.

"Quiet," said Felicie. "It's starting."

Sascha turned around in her seat just in time to see her father stride in through the red-oak doors at the top of the hall. Her chest burned with pride. Head Theodore Aegon was a striking man in his late fifties with graying hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His black eyes swept over the hall, taking note of who was in attendance, who was distracted, who was serious, and who wasn't respectful. In that one moment, the Head of Aegon had judged everyone in the room and knew precisely what he was going to do with them. Then, he strolled down the stairs to the empty table in the middle of the hall with the casual grace of a predator.

Sascha watched in awe as her father took the center seat at the table.

The man who then sat on her father's left was not nearly as intimidating, even though he possessed the same handsome, bold features and was only two years younger. Gereon Aegon was the Head's third brother, a mediocre chimera with the ability to create projections who had worked in the Police Force since he turned twenty-three.

The next man to reach the table was the Head's youngest brother. Markus Aegon possessed none of the charm and appeal of his brothers, but more of the talent. A strong chimera with the ability to create dreams, Markus's job was to educate the children of the Aegon in the use of their talents. He had taught Sascha when she was just learning how to influence people's emotions. She'd come a long way since then, but she still remembered Markus's lessons on how there were advantages to learning how to manipulate people's emotions without the use of her talent.

Sascha smiled at Markus as he pulled out his chair beside Gereon Aegon, but he didn't notice her.

The last person to enter the hall was Third Lady Emilie Mathilde-Aegon, the strongest chimera in the Aegon. Sascha felt a wave of dislike towards the red-haired woman who had, with her body and her talent, seduced her way to the Head's side.

Emilie did not match the Head's image at all. She was a short, petite woman with hair the color of carmine. Emilie almost skipped down the stairs and into her seat, her black dress swaying in time to her footsteps. She smiled across the empty seat at the stern face of her husband before taking her seat.

Sascha frowned. There was an empty seat on her father's direct right. The seat where General Hendrik Aegon always sat—strong and sturdy beside the Head's cold cunning. Sascha felt a twinge in her chest as she realized how empty the table felt without the General.

"We begin. The Head's voice cut through the hall, ending any side conversations. "We begin with some grave news."

Felicie's pale hands gripped the armrests of her chair.

The Head betrayed no emotion. "Some of you are already aware of the tragedy that has taken place, but for those of you who have not heard, I will tell you now. In the early hours of yesterday morning, General Hendrik Aegon was found dead."

No moved—except for Hendrik's two wives and a couple of his daughters who were crying and hugging each other. His first wife was dabbing her eyes with a tissue while his second, much younger, wife sobbed onto her teenage son's shoulder. Otherwise, the people in the Stateroom were too stunned to respond.

Sascha was still, her fingers intertwined in her lap. She had never really imagined Hendrik Aegon as someone capable of dying. He was a large man, well over six-foot, and had a solid, muscular build. It would have taken a stream roller to beat that man down—or a large dose of Cobra's Tongue.

"The cause of his death is under investigation. We are doing our utmost to ensure that those who dared strike against the Aegon shall be justly punished." The Head's voice was hard, but calm as he spoke. "All I can tell you at the moment is that my brother was murdered by someone working outside the Houses. Do not respond to this tragedy with rash or violent behavior. Anyone who responds to General Hendrik's death in a disagreeable manner will be stripped of his or her Name. The Police Force has assigned my son Dietrich to this case."

All eyes snapped to Dietrich whose red hair was unmistakable. If the gaze of every person in the hall affected him in anyway, Dietrich didn't show it. He kept his posture relaxed and his attention fixed on his father.

"Dietrich is keeping me informed on the investigation, and I can assure you that progress is being made." Head Theodore scanned the room for any sign of discontent, his gaze lingering on Hendrik's wives and children. To Sascha, none of them seemed particularly vengeful and ready to take action against the culprit, but perhaps her father saw something she didn't. Maybe little six-year-old Fred was actually plotting murder beneath those black curls.

Nevertheless, the Head examined Hendrik's family before saying, in his usual calm, calculating voice, "I again urge you not to take rash action. We are entering a delicate time here with the Readjustments approaching. If we take violent and unwarranted action against any of the other Houses, we might lose our applications for the Seats. If we take violent and unwarranted action against any of the People, we might lose our strength as a House. No repose should be initiated without _my_ approval. Understand that anyone who disobeys me will be stripped of his or her Name. The Aegon does not take traitors and fools lightly—may a place be reserved in the Tasking Chamber for the soul of the person who dares fight against me."

As her father's fierce gaze swept over the hall, Sascha felt her nerves tremble in a sharp mixture of delight and terror. Every single person in the Stateroom sat in silence, sweating their fear under his black gaze.

Only when he was satisfied that his words had gotten through to the family, did the Head speak again. "The Readjustment is a sensitive period. Hendrik Aegon held the General's Seat for almost fifteen years. He was an incredible man and Shion will mourn him. The Aegon mourns him too. But the General's Seat must be filled and we cannot allow a member of the Cadmus or Leandre to possess that Seat. That would be a disgrace Hendrik's memory."

The Head paused here and let the words sink in. Hendrik's second wife was sobbing quietly to herself while little Fred clutched his mother's arm.

The Head continued. "I've weighed the talents and accomplishments of each member of the Aegon and decided that my own brother, Gereon Aegon, is the best candidate to fill Hendrik's Seat."

A murmur spread about the hall. Some people, Josephine included, nodded in agreement, while others, particularly Emilie and her redheads, tried to hide their frowns. Sascha was neutral. Hendrik was one of those legends that comes around every once in a hundred years. While no one could compare to Theodore Aegon in terms of leadership, Sascha considered Hendrik to be the ideal commander of the police force. He'd been intelligent and strong with uncompromising values; he knew what had to be done and wasn't afraid to accomplish it—at least, that was how Dietrich had always described the General.

"However." A single word from the Head brought the murmurs to an end. "The next possessor of the General's Seat won't be considered until after the Warrior's Seat Competition had concluded. Sabine Leandre, the current possessor of the Warrior's Seat, is strong. But as of yesterday, she no longer holds the title of the strongest chimera alive. Allison Tveit has taken her place." The Head paused, as though trying to reassure himself that what he was about to say was true and not just a fluke. "With a Tasking Number of 3.33."

If the death of General Hendrik Aegon hadn't been enough to stun the hall, the announcement of a 3.33 Tasking Number was. The Stateroom was still. Sascha thought half of them were waiting for the Head to laugh at his own poor joke. But slowly, the truth began to sink in. Some monster—for a monster she was—had outdone the impossible. A 3.00 was the highest possible Tasking Number and no one besides the original three chimera had ever achieved such a high Number.

"He's joking," said Josephine. "He must be joking."

Felicie shook her head, her gray hair swaying from side to side. "Karsten Geog witnessed the Tasking Ceremony, he told us this morning. Allison Tveit stumbled from the Chamber and collapsed at the feet of Louisa Cadmus. They all turned as the red sand spilled from the top to the bottom half of the hourglass. The highest marker is at 3.00—they had to get a ruler to measure her exact number."

"Three threes," said Josephine softly. "What an odd number."

Sascha scanned the hall where the members of the Aegon discussed the Allison Tveit. For curiosity's sake, she lowered the barriers around her excess soul and let the color seep into her vision. Unlike Dietrich who could see the colors of people's soul, Sascha could see the colors of people's emotions. She knew what fear looked like. For instance, every single person in the Stateroom was afraid of Head Theodore Aegon. Sascha could see it in their eyes and in their souls whenever he addressed them. The air around them would turn a feeble gray color that clung to their heads and chests like cobwebs. Now, as she let her excess soul ebb into the room, the color began to form.

Like the clouds of an approaching thunderstorm, the room was filled with the dark-gray shade of terror. Even at the table in the center of the hall, Sascha could see the dark shadow touching the emotions of Gereon, Markus, and Emilie. And her father. Her father, Sascha realized with a sinking feeling of violet disappointment, had fear the color of black tar clinging to his shoulders.

* * *

**Four**

Allison clutched the metal chains of the swing and pushed off the ground. She tried to remember what Thom had taught her. When the swing moved back, she pulled her legs back. When she went forward, she stretched her legs in front of her. She was pretty sure that's how it went, but no matter how much she moved her legs she couldn't fly like Thom had.

She dug her heels into the mulch and sat there, staring out into the darkness. The park was Thom's and her regular meeting place. The first date he took her on a year ago included a walk around the park. The second date, she'd gone down a slide for the first time (not that she told him it was her first time). The fourth date, they'd kissed under the dying orange light of the lamppost. Then, for almost every date after that, they parted ways in the park below his apartment. Thom had wanted to walk her home, but the idea of Thom anywhere near the Cadmus Mansion sent shivers down Allison's spine. She preferred to walk a few blocks away from his apartment before calling for a Cadmus car.

She closed her eyes and rested her cheek against the cold metal chain. She had lost track of how long she had been waiting for Thom. She messaged him that she was coming to visit and he'd responded that he had to finish an essay for one of his college classes before she came over.

Despite his message, Allison arrived at the park early. She didn't mind. To be honest, she barely noticed his absence; her mind was still filled with the scalding memories of the Chamber.

When she tried to think back on it, she found that she could barely recall her Tasking Ceremony. There had been snakes, she remembered that. Snakes everywhere, curling over her feet and twisting around her limbs. The fear had become caught up in her lung and she hadn't been able to breathe. And she'd been trying, trying so hard to find her excess soul somewhere inside of her. Searching behind the walls of her mind and discovering that silence was her only response. She remembered all that, but what happened next was hazy. The world had shifted. It was as if she had become removed from her body and she could only watch through a screen as the snakes, the cage, and the Chamber burned. Burned like her home when she was six-years-old. In the back of her faded memory, she could hear her father as the unseen flames consumed him. He had called her name.

Allison took a deep breath.

Focus on the good things, she reminded herself. Think of the metal jungle gym over there, where she climbed to the top on their second date and then froze because she wasn't sure if she could get down in her green sundress without flashing Thom. He'd promised to turn around and that he wouldn't peek. Focus on the happy things. She would be seeing Thom soon. She could wrap her arms around his broad shoulders and tell him all about the terrors of the Tasking Chamber. And even if he didn't understand a word she said because he wasn't a chimera, he would still hold her and wouldn't let go until she was ready. Allison just had to focus on Thom and let the 3.33 slip away.

"Allison!"

At the sound of Thom's voice, the weight in Allison's shoulders lessened. Her mouth curved into a warm smile as she looked over her shoulder as saw Thom, with his auburn hair falling into his eyes, jogging across the park.

"I didn't realize you were waiting," he said. "I would've come sooner. You shouldn't be out here all on your own."

Allison just smiled at him.

"Are you okay?" He stood behind her and placed his hands on the metal chains.

Allison leaned back so that her head rested against his stomach. "I was practicing."

"Huh?" He blinked. "Swinging?"

She nodded, the back of her head rubbing against his stomach. "I'm not very good."

"Well, no one is good when they start." Thom hesitated. "How was the Tasking Ceremony?"

"No. Don't ask me yet. Not yet. Tell me about college. Are your classes going well?"

Thom hesitated and then said, "All right. My memorizing skills aren't the best, I keep having to look up the same laws and it takes a long time. But I'm much better at locating possible loopholes than other people in my class."

"Are you going to be one of those sneaking, back-door lawyers?"

"Never. I'm going to close all the backdoors."

"That's good," said Allison. "Phillip is always talking about correcting injustices whenever I visit Adrianna."

"I'm jealous—you live under the same roof as the Judge."

Allison stared across the playground at the orange lamppost. She could still feel the heavy bodies of snakes curling around her ankles. "You wouldn't be jealous if you know who else lived under the Cadmus roof."

Thom shook his head. "You know you can always come live with me—if you're willing to leave that giant washtub behind."

Allison didn't respond.

"So tell me," said Thom finally. "How did the Tasking Ceremony go?"

Allison took a deep breath. "My Tasking Number is 3.33."

"Great!" Thom paused. "Is that good?"

Allison smiled just wide enough to show her front two teeth. "The highest recorded Tasking Number before me was a 3.00—the Ancestor's three children."

"Wait," said Thom. "I got this. The Ancestor is the first Chimera and his children are Aegon, Cadmus, and Leandre who founded the three Houses." A frown flitted across Thom's face. "You're stronger than the founders of the Houses?"

Allison reached up and caught hold of his hand. "You're learning."

"Slowly but surely." Thom intertwined his fingers with hers. "So does that make you the strongest chimera ever?"

"Besides the Ancestor—yes."

Thom whistled. "My girlfriend is the strongest chimera ever. Now _that's_ something I can brag about."

"Don't," said Allison. "Please don't."

Thom brushed a strand of blond hair from her forehead. "If you don't want me to, I won't."

Allison hesitated. The next few words were the hardest words she had ever spoken in her life; they weighed like led upon her tongue. As she gazed up at Thom's face, her chest tightened. She was terrified of the implications of what she was about to say. Something unnatural was occurring around her. Something that she didn't understand and had no control over. Her hands started to shake and tears sprung to her eyes.

"Thom." Allison's voice was barely more than a murmur. "Thom, I don't think I'm a chimera."

"What?"

The lamppost flickered, the orange light casting strange shadows on the ground.

Allison took a deep, trembling breath. "I think I am of the People."

"What? Didn't you just say you scored a 3.33 during the Tasking Ceremony?"

The lamppost choked and coughed until the last dregs of life spluttered out of it. The park was only illuminated by the strained, yellow glow of the moon.

"Will you love me even if I'm not the strongest chimera ever?"

"Of course."

"Will you love me even if I'm not a chimera?"

Thom smiled. "You are Allison Tveit. You like wearing impractical dresses. You are a pro bowler. You love hot chocolate and hate coffee. Your favorite color is yellow. You have the palest blond hair I have ever seen and the most beautiful blue eyes. You think that dogs shed too much and you have never learned how to swing. I know you and I love you and I don't care if you are from the slums or the Houses. I will love you no matter what."

Allison closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. She gave Thom's hand a littl e squeeze, running her fingers over the smooth skin.

"I love y—"

The sleeping, blue eyes, concealed in the darkness behind Allison's soul, snapped open.

Allison wrenched her head around, straining to see through the night.

A figure stood beneath the dead lamppost. He was dressed entirely in black—even his face was covered by a black mask that had holes only for his darting, brown eyes and thin, wiry mouth.

Allison's grip on Thom's hand tightened. He looked up and saw the masked figure too. Thom released Allison's hand and stepped in front of her, trying to protect her from the stranger.

"No," said Allison, search reached out to stop Thom, but he was walking away from her.

Thom's voice was clipped as he asked, "Can I help you?"

The first blow struck Thom directly in the chest. One moment, Thom was walking towards the masked figure, and the next, Thom was thrown backwards, landing with an upainful crunch on the brown mulch.

Allison leapt to her feet. Her heart was thumping wildly in her chest as she stared at the stranger.

"You don't want to do this," said Allison. "Do you know who I am?"

The stranger took a step forward.

Allison reached inside her mind. Searching for something, anything that could save her and Thom from their attacker, but there was nothing. Her well of power did not exist. She was not a chimera.

"Stop," cried Allison weakly.

The unseen force knocked her off her feet. She landed on the mulch. The pain of impact shot through her like electric shocks, leaving her gasping and choking for air.

The stranger was a chimera. A chimera with a talent for creating waves of power with his excess soul.

The blue eyes in the back of her mind blinked. They almost seemed to sigh in exasperation.

Allison felt her world shift. She was _removed_ from her body—the strings that bound her soul to her arms and legs came undone. She slid backward and watched, as if through a television screen, as Thom cried out her name and the stranger took another step forward, watching her curiously.

But even as Allison had no control over her body, she could feel it moving. Her body sat up and her right arm scratched the back of her head and she heard herself say, "Allison, are you really that pathetic?"

* * *

**Five**

Thom could feel the pain blossoming in his chest. His breathing came in scraping, heavy bursts. He didn't know what had hit him—he hadn't seen it. All it took was a single blow to his abdomen and Thom had been thrown into the ground, his shoulder crunching unpleasantly against the grass. For a moment, Thom had been overwhelmed by the spiraling pain that shot through his body, beginning at his stomach and jolting through his chest and neck to his head.

As the pain subsided a little, Thom pushed himself off the ground and moved into a sitting position. Only one thought ran through his mind—_Allison_.

Through the darkness, Thom could make out the outlines of objects. The rusted swing set to his right, the dead lamppost to his left, and a few paces in front was the man wearing a mask. The dark clothes clung tightly to the man's lean, toned body and his hair was black except the places that turned silver when they caught the moonlight.

Thom tore his eyes away from the man and scanned the playground., but no matter how he looked, he couldn't find Allison. Thom's heart sped up. Where was Allison? Was she already dead? Had the man already killed her? No. Not Allison.

Then, through the haze of his panic, Thom saw Allison, her hair white in the moonlight, slowly getting to her feet. She drew herself up to her full height and stared at the masked man.

A tremor of fear ran down Thom's throat. He had never seen Allison look like that. Usually, she was a sweet, innocent girl with an easy smile, who held down the corner of her yellow sundress, because she was worried that a gust of wind might blow her into immodesty. But now, Allison stood upright, her blue eyes as sharp as a knife edge. A cold wind caused her dress to ride up her thighs, but Allison didn't notice. All her attention was fixed on the masked man in front of her.

"Are you really that pathetic?" asked Allison.

Something, a combination of fear and admiration, jumped in Thom's chest as he watched a smile spread across Allison's face. Had she lost her mind? Had the situation finally gotten to her?

The masked man seemed just as confused as Thom. His dark eyes, visible through two slots in the mask, narrowed and he took a step forward.

"Stop," said Allison. "Don't be ridiculous. I don't know who sent you, but they sent you to your death. I'm in a bad mood." Allison paused and then let out a full, whole-body laugh. "Actually, I'm always in a bad mood. You just happened to catch me in a bad mood while I'm in control. Sucks for you."

The man panicked. Thom felt a gust of wind as an unseen force flew at Allison.

"Look out!" screamed Thom.

He needed have bothered.

There was a flashed of blazing heat and then the wave of force and the blistering heat disappeared, leaving the two chimeras facing one another. Allison's hands were placed on her hips, while the masked man took a tentative step backward.

Allison stretched and yawned. "I told you, your employers sent you to your death." She smiled. "Tell me who sent you and I might let you get away with your life."

The man said nothing. His eyes sharpened with focus and his lips, turned white, trembled slightly.

"The Aegon?" Allison took a step forward. "The Leandre?" Another step. "The Cadmus?" She stepped over the wooden beam that separated the mulch from the grass. "Or is it something else?" Step. "Do you work for yourself?" The grass brushed against her feet through the straps of her sandals. "Do you work for the People?" Another step. "Or the Nameless?"

A flash of terror in the man's eyes and he threw everything he had at her. Though Thom couldn't see the blows, he could feel the brush of wind as the man tried to knock Allison off her feet. There was a rush of burning heat and the crackle of unseen flames—Allison continued walking forward.

The man stumbled backwards. There was no way he could beat the woman who stood in front of him, so pale under the silver moonlight that she was almost white.

"Stop," the man whispered. "Stop."

"Tell me," said Allison. "Tell me who sent you."

"No Name."

"That's not enough information," said Allison. "Tell me the name of the person who hired you. Niklas Pehr? Or Tekla Valden?"

The man's eyes widened a fraction.

A wicked, triumphant smile flashed across Allison's face.

The air was filled with the cackle and burning of the unseen flames. Thom shielded his eyes as the playground was flooded with heat. The fire of Allison's talent spread along the grass, leaving a black, charcoal trail of destruction until it reached the masked man. The unseen flames touched him—starting with his foot and then consuming all of him.

Thom watched in pale horror as the man burned to death in flames that could not be seen. The black mask melted into his face and his eyes turned bloodshot red as his hair fizzled and burned away. The man's screams pierced the night air. Thom's hands dug into the mulch, the pieces of wood biting into his palms. It took all his strength to look away from the man, who had become nothing more than a blackened, bony corpse.

The heat vanished and the cold night air settled back into place.

Thom stared at Allison. She stood in a circle of ash, untouched by the flames. Everything within ten paces of her had been incinerated. Her face no longer held any of the soft, warm features that he knew so well; she had become sharp and silver. Thom felt his gut twist as he stared at the eerie woman before him. This was not his Allison.

"He wasn't nearly as difficult as I thought he'd be," said Allison, scratching the back of her head.

"Allison," gasped Thom. "Allison, what have you done?"

Her eyes snapped to him, charged with a sudden wild, electric fury. "What did you call me?"

Thom stumbled to his feet. His eyes flickered to the charred corpse. "He's dead. He's dead, Allison."

"Don't call me that!"

She shot a wave of unseen fire at him. The heat scalded Thom's right arm. He let out a high-pitched scream, but the pain wouldn't stop. It was as though she had thrust his arm into a furnace and refused to let go.

But she did release him. The flames ebbed away, and Thom collapsed to the ground, coughing and spluttering and trying to protect his arm, which was bright red where the unseen flames had touched him.

"You're lucky," said Allison, walking towards Thom. "If you were anyone else, I would have killed you."

Thom stared at her. It was as though there was no trace of Allison left. Not even her face resembled Allison anymore.

"My name is Dani," she said. "The name of this body is Dani. Not Allison. Never Allison. If you call me by that parasite's name again, I will burn you where you stand. Do you understand?"

Thom nodded mutely. She was standing only a couple paces in front of him now, her lips twitching with disgust.

"Good." Allison, or rather Dani, leaned forward and grasped Thom's burned arm. Tears sprung to his eyes as the pressure against his burned skin jolted through his body.

"I want you to go back to your apartment and call the police," said Dani. "Tell them that you were at the park with your girlfriend, Allison Tveit, when this man attacked you. Allison lost control of her powers and burned the man to death. She was afraid of what she had done and she fled. Tell the police to send the Cadmus. No one else. If the Aegon or the Leandre show up, you tell them nothing. _Only_ the Cadmus."

Thom nodded.

"Good. And if you disobey me, well, you know what happens." Dani jerked her thumb over her shoulder at the man's blackened bones that reeked of burnt meat.

"Who are you?" asked Thom.

Dani smiled at him. It wasn't the cruel smile she had worn earlier, but the same sweet, sad smile that Allison wore whenever she talked about the Cadmus. The same smile that made Thom's heart race, that made him want to wrap his arms around Allison and promise to protect her from the world.

Thom's heart twisted in outrage—how dare Dani wear that smile on that face.

Dani turned away without answering. She crossed the patch of ash, letting the char smear against her white sandals. Without so much as a glance behind her, she stepped past the lightless lamppost and disappeared into the night altogether, leaving a trembling, crying Thom kneeling alone in the mulch.

* * *

**Six**

Emilie Mathilde-Aegon tried not to yawn as her husband's brother's wife's cousin explained that the People were living so close to the Aegon property that they were practically sleeping in the gardens. Just the other day he caught an elderly couple playing fetch with their dog outside the rose garden. She smiled with feigned interest as what's-his-name Aegon complained about the People and their inability to listen.

It was chimera like what's-his-name that caused the People to hate the Houses. Was it really a big deal that an elderly couple, who, by birth, did not have powerful souls, played catch with their dog in the Aegon's gardens? Didn't the Aegon have more important things to do besides watch the borders of their property like hawks?

Emilie stifled a yawn, aware that at least fifty people were taking note of her lack of interest in what's-his-name. No doubt this would be mentioned to what's-his-name, and Emilie will have earned herself yet another enemy.

Emilie glanced at her husband, the oh-so-imperious Head Theodore Aegon. Emilie almost laughed aloud whenever someone referred to Theo in such a way—they wouldn't be nearly as respectful if they knew he drooled in his sleep. Theo had the incredible acting ability to hide his true face. Emilie liked to call his public image his Scary Mask, though she would never call it that except when they were alone. But even under the Scary Mask that he wore currently, Emilie knew that Theo was just as bored as she was.

"We hear your concerns, Gavin Roehl-Aegon," said Theo. (That was his name, thought Emilie. Gavin. He sort of looked like a Gavin with a thin face and watery blue eyes—definitely not full Aegon blood.) "We shall address this matter at a later date."

Gavin Roehl-Aegon sat down, his head bent forward.

Emilie turned to her husband, hope in her eyes. Perhaps they would finally be dismissed.

"Are there any other matters that we should hear of?" Theo scanned the crowd, glaring down anyone who looked like they might have a proposition. When no one found the courage to stand beneath Theo's gaze, he said, "Then we conclude."

Emilie breathed a sigh of relief as she got to her feet. Ceremony demanded that she walk out first, with all eyes on her, followed by the other table members—Markus, Gereon, and then, since Hendrik had passed away, Theo.

Emilie stepped around the table and headed for the exit, fighting to keep to smile from her face. As she started up the steps, her eyes flashed over her children's faces. Dietrich sat closest to the aisle. Though he did not smile, there was playfulness in his eyes. Elena sat next to him, shaking her head at her mother. Her children were always amused by their mother's hatred for the Aegon's traditions.

Emilie passed through the doorway and stepped out into the red-carpeted hall that surrounded the Stateroom. Markus Aegon stepped into the hall after her, allowing the heavy, double doors to swing shut behind him.

"I always hate having to walk in and out," said Markus.

"Walking out is the best part," said Emilie with a wicked smile on her face.

Of course, you would say that." Markus shook his head. "How have you been? I haven't seen you in an age."

"Preoccupied with work. Roden just started working at the hospital. I've been showing him the ropes."

"He inherited your talent for healing then?" said Markus.

"Yes."

The doors opened again and Gereon Aegon exited the Stateroom. He closed the doors firmly behind him before turning to face his half-brother and sister-in-law.

"Chatting are we?" asked Gereon. "But there's so much work to be done. Aunt Martha has been complaining about the draft in her room for three months, but since no one has done anything about it she decided to bring it up in a family meeting."

"Let's not forget Gavin Roehl-Aegon," said Emilie. "I'm stunned by his consideration and care for the People."

"They're everywhere," said Gereon.

"They're the People," said Emilie, frowning at Gereon's tone. "They're _meant_ to be everywhere."

"Not _here_. Not in the Aegon."

The doors opened again and Theo stepped out into the hall. He surveyed Emilie, who still had the traces of a scowl on her lips, Gereon who was red in the face, and Markus who was still torn between stopping the argument or letting it play out to its end just to see who would win.

Theo turned to his wife. "Do I want to ask?"

"Just discussing Gavin's statement," said Emilie.

Theo shot her a warning look. "I have business to attend to. Can you bring Dietrich to meet me in the usual room?" He then addressed Markus. "Find Sascha. Bring her to her too. I have business with the two of them." He turned to Gereon. "You are now the Aegon's applicant for the General's Seat—don't you have far more important work to do besides argue about the population of Shion with my wife?"

Emilie tried to stop herself from smirking as Gereon slunk away. Even after thirty years, some grudges never grew old.

Theo headed down the hall to the small room where he usually conducted his post-family-meeting meetings. The other members of the Aegon had begun to exit the hall and, with a wave of farewell, Markus went to locate his niece. Emilie turned to face the black-haired chimeras who now filled the hall, making her search much more difficult. It was at times like these that Emilie appreciated her son's hair.

The first redhead that Emilie came across was her youngest daughter, the twenty-year-old Clare.

"Were you bored?" asked Clare the instant her eyes fell on her mother.

Emilie beamed. "I am never bored, dear. I found what your great-great-aunt-twice-removed had to say to be riveting."

"There is no such thing as a great-great-aunt-twice-removed."

"Don't be snarky," said Emilie. "Your hair will turn black and you'll start scaring people into silence like your father."

With a quick kiss to her daughter's forehead, Emilie made her way through the crowd to the next redhead in sight, Roden. Her youngest son was a strapping young man who had yet to be acquainted with a hair stylist.

"You looked so fascinated in what great-uncle Gavin had to say," said Roden.

"He's your great-uncle? Really?" asked Emilie. "Well, I got that wrong."

"Maybe you had him confused with Galin, who is Aunt Isolde's cousin's wife's husband." Roden frowned. "Or maybe Galin's her cousin's husband's sister's wife. Wait. No. That's not right either."

Emilie patted her son on the shoulder. "Do what I do and just surrender to the fact that you will never memorize your family tree—have you seen Dietrich around?"

"Father wants him?" asked Roden.

"As always. Work, work, work. It's never father-son bonding time. Maybe I should lock you six in a room with Theo some time."

"Dietrich is over there," said Roden.

He pointed to the exit just behind Emilie. She turned and saw Dietrich slipping through the crowd with little Fred Aegon at his heels. The little boy was saying something about how Dietrich should come straight to him as soon as Dietrich discovered who the culprit was. Dietrich smiled and made an excuse when he caught sight of his mother. He wove through the crowd, ignoring the curious glances from the family members. Roden greeted Dietrich briefly before moving away to talk with one of his cousins, leaving Dietrich and Emilie alone amongst the crowd.

"Most interesting meeting today," said Dietrich.

"Allison Tveit," said Emilie. "What an interesting girl."

"According to Adam Aegon, she almost burned the Tasking Chamber to the ground," said Dietrich. "But Adam had been known to exaggerate."

Emilie frowned. She could recall her own Tasking Ceremony where she threw everything she could at the massive dogs that snapped at her ankles. When the doors had finally opened to let her out into the light, Emilie, near the brink of tears, had almost thrown herself into Theo's arms. She had possessed enough sense to stand upright and save the cuddling for the privacy of closed-doors where Theo didn't have to have his Scary Mask plastered to his face.

"The Head wants to see you." Emilie took her son by the arm and steered him down the hall towards the small chamber. She noticed that the graying men and chattering women in their fine velvets moved out of the way to make room for her son.

"You never change," said Emilie, shaking her head.

"What do you mean?" asked Dietrich innocently, though there was a twitch of amusement in his lips.

"Don't forget," said Emilie. "Your hair is red."

"And my eyes are black," said Dietrich.

Emilie nodded. "So you can be Aegon or," she lowered her voice to the barest whisper, "You can be a Mathilde."

"Don't let anyone hear you saying that," muttered Dietrich.

"I know. I don't fancy dying young."

"I won't mention then that at your last birthday celebration, your cake was almost on fire."

"Cord put extra candles in," said Emilie, stubbornly. "I'm really only thirty-five."

"Of course," said Dietrich.

They reached the door to the small chamber. Emilie could feel dozens of black eyes plastered to her back as she turned the knob and pushed the door open. She stepped back to allow Dietrich to enter first, then she slipped in after him, glaring out at the curious people who now refused to make eye contact with her.

The small room was designed specifically for Theo. In the center of the room, there was a small, chenille sofa and two brown-leather chairs surrounding a glass coffee table. There was mini bar in the far corner, where Theo pulled poured himself a glass of red wine. Emilie's tried to suppress her smile. Theo only drank wine because he thought it matched his image. As soon as everyone left, he would put the wine away and take out a can of cheap beer.

Sascha was already seated, her slender arm draped over the back of the sofa. She glanced up and look of white-hot outrage crossed her face at the sight of Emilie.

"Hello." Emilie greeted Sascha with the sweetest smile she could manage.

"You took your time," said Theo.

He held up the glass of wine, silently asking Emilie if she wanted any. Emilie marched across the room and opened the black mini-fridge. She pulled out one of the cheap beers. Smirking, she cracked open the can and took a sip under Theo's envious eyes.

"Delicious," said Emilie, before going to join Sascha on the couch.

Dietrich took a seat in one of the chairs and drummed his fingers on the thick armrest. "You wanted to see me, father?"

"Yes," said Theo, tearing his eyes away from Emilie's beer. "The Nameless you brought to see me."

"Knute?"

"Yes. What do you intend to do with him?"

"I promised him that I would speak with you about allowing him to join the Aegon," said Dietrich. "I've seen his soul. It's strong. I believe that's how Uncle Hendrik found him and why he told him about his poisoners. It'd be advantageous to have Knute in the Aegon."

Theo nodded. "He's strong."

"Stronger than me, I think," said Dietrich.

"How old is he?"

"Twenty-four."

"We can still give him a Tasking Ceremony," said Theo. "Even though it is nontraditional."

"Is he going to join the Aegon?" There was a note of surprise in Dietrich's voice.

"Maybe. If he is as strong as you say, I will give him a chance. You think that a group of Nameless are acting against the Houses."

Dietrich nodded. "Hendrik said that they named themselves. House chimeras already have Names, so the only ones who need to name themselves are the Nameless. Some of them must hold grudges against the Houses too."

Theo traced the rim of his wine glass with his thumb. "Then I want you to use Knute to discover this group of rebellious Nameless. You say he came with you in secrecy, correct?"

"No one knows that he has met with any member of the Houses."

"Then promise him a position in the Aegon if he can join these Nameless and help us to dispose of them."

Dietrich frowned. "It'll be dangerous."

"It'll be worth the risk."

"He has a background in drug dealing. We'll have to pay his way out of that."

"Is his soul worth it?"

"I believe so."

Theo nodded, once, grimly. "Then do what must be done."

Emilie held back a sigh. She watched the exchange without a word. And when it was done, she wriggled her eyebrows at Dietrich, who proceeded to ignore her.

"Sascha," said Theo, turning to his daughter. "I have a job for you."

Sascha's face glowed with pride when she realized that her father had chosen her for this task. Emilie had always had mixed feelings about Felicie's daughter, Sascha. The girl was pretty and charming when she wanted to be, but there was a meanness to her that made Emilie wary. Once, Emilie had stumbled across a fifteen-year-old Sascha testing out a new poison on the maid's dog. Even though the dog had survived thanks to Emilie's healing talent, she had never been able to forgive Sascha for that incident.

Theo took a sip of wine as he surveyed his daughter. Swallowing his drink, Theo said, "I need you to kill Allison Tveit."

Emilie choked. "Theo—you can't be serious?"

He shot her a venomous glare—he hated it when she called him Theo in front of others. He was Theodore Aegon, the Head of the Aegon House and no one shoulder ever forget it. Sascha was giving Emilie a deadly glare as well. At least, Emilie thought, her son was on her side.

Emilie ignored the glares and said, "Allison Tveit never done anything to us. She's just a child. Her whole life has been a tragedy—her mother and her sister died at her birth and her father died when she was six. How could you deal her such a cruel fate? She has no grudges against the Aegon. She just had the misfortune of being a strong chimera under the influence of the Cadmus. You can't just say you're going to kill her—not just like that."

Theo had probably anticipated Emilie's response. He surveyed her coolly, his Scary Mask betraying no hint of regret.

"I understand why you feel that way," said Theo. "I have weighed all the options. If we let Allison Tveit compete for the Warrior's Seat along with Sabine Leandre, there will be no hope of the Aegon acquiring that Seat. I would be willing to give up the Warrior's Seat if I knew we had the General's Seat for certain, but after Hendrik's death, I have lost any guarantee of winning that Seat. Allison Tveit is too large of a threat to the Aegon's security for me to let her live. I have also considered trying to convince her that joining the Aegon, but I realized that the Leandre—with Marcel as their Head—will try the same thing. Allison Tveit has been raised by the Cadmus and they will marry her to one of them as soon as possible. We will have no success if we try to convince her to join the Aegon. No, the best option for the Aegon House is to kill her. And for that, I need Sascha."

Emilie stared at her husband. She knew him. To be honest, she was not surprised that he had reached this conclusion. It was logical—it just wasn't right.

Dietrich had his Steel Mask plastered across his face, his expression calm and emotionless. He understood his father's reasoning, even if he did not agree.

Sascha, on the other hand, possessed none of her father or brother's self-control. Her eyes were bright and her lips were trembling in outrage. Not at Theo's decision—she had no problem with assassinating Allison Tveit—but rather, she was outraged that Emilie would speak out against the Head and that he'd let Emilie get away with it.

Emilie almost felt sorry for Sascha. She had a long way to go before she understood how love worked.

Theo took another sip of wine before addressing Sascha, "I want you to kill her before the Warrior's Seat competition begins."

"Yes, father."

"Good," said Theo. "You two are dismissed."

Dietrich and Sascha rose from their seats and headed to the door. Emilie remained on the couch, taking small sips from her can of beer. It was only when Dietrich and Sascha left, closing the door firmly behind them, that Theo snatched the bottle from Emilie's hand.

"I hate wine," he said, taking a huge gulp of beer.

"Poor you. The sacrifices you make to be the Head of the Aegon."

Theo glanced at her. "You're not happy with me."

"Did you expect me to be?"

"No." Theo sat down on the couch next to her and sighed. "I'm sorry, but Allison Tveit is a threat to the Aegon."

"I'll divorce you," said Emilie, folding her arms over her chest.

Theo's eyebrows shot up. "You do realize you cannot legally divorce me. It's against the Aegon's law."

"To hell with the Aegon's law, I'm a Mathilde. It's in my last name."

Theo groaned. "You are the worst. You remind me of that stupid naming tradition every chance you get."

"I know." Emilie leaned forward and kissed her husband lightly on the lips. Then, she jumped to her feet, her black dress swaying about her knees. "You know what, I'm still mad. I don't love you right now. You can sleep with one of your other wives tonight."

And with that, she turned on her heels and walked away, aware that she was probably the only person in the world who could turn her back on Theodore Aegon and get away with it.

* * *

**This is one of the longest chapters in the whole book. It took me so long to edit and I probably still missed a ton of things. So, what did you think of Emilie and Theodore? Honestly, they're two of my favorite characters and I wish I could give them more scenes, but I have TOO MANY CHARACTERS. Urg. I try, I really do.**

**Please review! Tell me what you think of Emilie, of Theodore, of Sascha, of Dietrich, of Raoul, of Sabine, of Allison, of Thom, of Dani... Tell me what you think of the 3.33 Tasking Number. What can I improve on? Where does the story slow down? Where was the pacing good or bad? Do I ever info dump? Is any of the dialogue feel awkward? Please review and tell me!**


	4. The Struggle

**4. The Struggle**

**35 Day of Spring, 1288**

* * *

**One**

No matter how hard Allison tried, she could not wipe the image of the shriveled, black corpse from her mind. She remembered what happened last night, but she couldn't remember how it had happened. She hadn't done anything. It was as though Allison had fallen asleep and watched, through the haze of her own mind, as her body did and said things that she would never do.

There had been a fourth person present last night. That was the only explanation.

Allison folded and then unfolded only to fold her arms across her chest once again. She shifted uncomfortably in the black, velvet-cushioned chair outside the office of Head Louisa of the Cadmus.

Allison's body (for she had not been in control at the time) had arrived home late last night after wandering aimlessly through streets of Shion. The body had stopped only when she reached the serpent-headed gates that marked the entrance to the Cadmus Mansion. After staring at the metal snakes heads for what seemed like hours, the body had sighed and let go. As whoever had been controlling the body stepped back, Allison's soul had rushed forward to take control. She'd felt the weight of her arms, legs, and head again. She remembered what it felt like to have a beating heart and lungs that needed air. Her body had become heavy, so she knew that it belonged to her once again.

After being reprimanded for staying out so late, Allison had returned to her bedroom and collapsed onto her four-poster bed—but sleep had refused to come. Into the long hours of the night, she'd paced up and down her room, trying to remember everything that had happened and trying to understand why it had happened. However, she could only recall bits and pieces, and the fragments she could remember, Allison had tried to forget.

Another person. There was another person in her body.

Allison had pressed a fist against her mouth to stop herself from screaming, but soon she'd started sobbing into her pillows.

Someone else had controlled her body. Someone who could kill so easily. Someone with the power of a 3.33 chimera.

When she'd managed to reel in her emotions, Allison had stumbled down the kitchen and spent the rest of the night drinking cup after cup of hot chocolate. She didn't leave until, as the sun began to rise over the lake, Nathaniel found her and said that the Head wished to see her.

Only now, as she waited outside the Head's office in the uncomfortable, velvet chair, Allison began to fall asleep. Her eyes itched and begged to be closed, even if it was only for five minutes. But she couldn't sleep. She wouldn't allow herself to sleep. Not when the Head could call for her at any moment.

Allison fixated on the painting on the other side of the room, just behind the secretary's desk. It was grotesque picture, Allison thought. Not that she would ever tell Catherine Cadmus, who'd worked as the Head's secretary for the past five years, that she had terrible taste in décor. The harsh, vibrant brushstrokes formed the image of a serpent with three tails. The serpent had gnashing teeth that resembled the fangs of a predator and bristled fur in place of scales. The snake, in fact, looked less like a snake and more like a wolf—a thought that sent shivers down Allison's spine.

In front of her painted serpent, Catherine kept giving Allison disdainful glances. The glances came between phone calls, while filing paper work, and as she typed on her computer. The stares in themselves did not disturb Allison, but the feelings of hatred, awe, and fear behind the looks that set Allison on edge.

She would have to become accustomed to such stares. Ever since her Tasking Ceremony, people—members of the Cadmus, people she had known since she was a child—had begun to look at her differently. They heard the Number 3.33 and it set them on edge. And now that someone was dead and the powers of a 3.33 chimera had been demonstrated, the fear behind the glances had intensified.

It wasn't me, Allison wanted to scream. Yes, it'd been her body, but it hadn't been her. She'd had no control over her body at the time. There'd been someone else. Not that anyone would believe her if she told them. Some small part of Allison didn't even believe herself.

The sharp ring of a telephone cut through Allison's thoughts. Catherine glanced up at Allison and then looked away as held the phone to her ear. "Yes, Head?"

Catherine waited for a second, listening, and then murmured the affirmative. She hung up the phone before regarding Allison with a downward curl to her red mouth.

"The Head will see you now."

Allison managed to get a full two steps to the door of the Head's office before Catherine spoke.

"Watch your back."

Allison glanced over her shoulder. "What?"

"Watch your back," said Catherine stiffly. "We've all seen you now. We know what you are."

Allison managed to swallow back a frown and plastered a smile on her face instead. "I don't think I understand your meaning."

Catherine leaned forward, scrutinizing Allison's white jeans and pale pink blouse. Then, after a long, agonizing silence, Catherine said, "They'll all be after you now. And if they can't have you, they'll kill you. You know this as well as I. When the Houses want you dead, not even Head Louisa Cadmus can save you."

Allison smiled through gritted teeth. "I'll remember that. Thank you for your concern, Catherine."

"Oh, it's not concern." Catherine curled a golden strand of hair around her index finger and leaned back in her office chair. "I'm just trying to prevent the number of black corpses that turn up on playgrounds in the Redwater District."

With that, they had no more to say to each other. Catherine returned to typing at her keyboard and Allison entered the Head's office, letting the door close softly behind her.

Head Louisa Cadmus was wearing a simple black pants suit with her gray hair pulled into a neat bun and clasped together with a silver hairclip. She stood behind her desk, staring out the massive window at the grounds beneath. The Head's office was a semi-circle with a massive window that spanned the curved part of the office. A few bookshelves and filing cabinets rested next to the door and a huge mahogany desk decorated the Head's office, but the main attraction was the window, which was framed on either side by thick, purple drapes. Despite Allison's presence, the Head kept her gaze on the swimming pool below.

"Good morning," said Allison.

Through the window, the Head was watching a man swim laps in the brilliant morning sun. "Quite the tragedy happened last night."

"It won't happen again," said Allison quickly.

"I did not say it was a bad thing."

Allison blinked. "A man, um, burned to death."

"A tragedy but not necessarily a bad thing." Head Louisa smiled at Allison, though the smile did not quite reach her pale, blue eyes.

"Isn't 'a bad thing' the definition of a tragedy?"

"You're young," said Head Louisa. "You'll understand what I mean some day."

Allison wasn't sure if she would ever understand, but she nodded her head and waited dutifully.

"Have a seat." The Head gestured to the chair in front of her desk.

Allison suppressed a groan. The black-velvet chair was identical to the uncomfortable one in the waiting room. However, it would be rude to object to the Head's offer, so Allison lowered herself into the seat.

"We have taken care of the body," said Head Louisa. "The People are aware that accidents happen where talent is concerned, and you have a lot of talent so accidents are expected." The Head smiled at Allison. It couldn't be considered a kind smile, more like the smile of an animal that was about to devour Allison.

"What about Thom?" asked Allison.

The Head's smile hardened a little. "Thom Anderson, age twenty-three, a student of law at Shion College, lives in the Redwater District—is that the Thom to whom you are referring?"

Allison nodded mutely. A pit of dread was forming in her stomach.

The Head sighed and slid down into the soft armchair behind her desk, which looked much more comfortable than Allison's seat. The Head leaned back and carefully surveyed Allison. "It is because of Thom Anderson that I wish to speak with you."

The pit of dread in Allison's stomach opened into a gaping chasm.

"Thom Anderson is of the People," said Head Louisa. "And you are a chimera—the strongest chimera we have ever seen."

"What if I am not a chimera?" asked Allison. "What if my Tasking Number is a fluke and I am actually of the People as well?"

The Head was still smiling, but there was nothing kindly in her face. Allison shrunk back into her chair until the back of the seat dug into her shoulder blades. The Head said nothing, but her eyes burned into Allison.

Allison swallowed once, twice, and then took a deep, shaking breath. "Sorry."

"It's understandable," said the Head. "Your Tasking Number is overwhelming and your shock is to be expected." She folded her hands neatly in her lap. "I called you here because I want you to understand two things. Firstly, a relationship between the world's strongest chimera and one of the People is undesirable. The People view the Houses as untouchable organizations. As chimera we have been placed above the People. And it is because the People view us as powerful, untouchable beings that we are allowed to rule them. To invite one of the People into the Houses is to taint the image of the chimera. You, as a member of the Cadmus, is a part of that image. Thom Anderson is not a part of that image. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Head."

"Good. Secondly, as a member of the Cadmus, you have a duty to the Cadmus. I took you in when you were six-years-old and orphaned. I expect you to pay back your debt to the Cadmus. So far, you have lived up to my expectations—and I am pleased. However, I expect you to keep living up to those expectations. As a Nameless chimera, you have will be married into the Cadmus."

Allison released the breath she had been holding. She'd always known this day was coming, but now, it had been said. Now, it was official.

"I am preparing a dinner," said Head Louisa. "For the whole of the Cadmus. The dinner is to celebrate your Tasking Ceremony, but it is also a chance for me to announce my decision concerning Michael and Nathaniel. The grandson that I choose as my heir will also be your fiancé."

"Yes, Head." Her throat was dry.

"You realize that your engagement to one of my grandsons means that you cannot have a relationship with Thom Anderson," said Head Louisa.

"Of course, Head. I was aware that this day was coming. My relationship with Thom Anderson was just to pass the time." She lifted her eyes and met Head Louisa's glaze directly. "I am always prepared to do my duty to the Cadmus."

The Head smiled and sank back into her seat. "You are a good girl, Allison Tveit. A good girl." Her smile faded and she returned to the steel-faced Head of the Cadmus. "You are dismissed."

"Yes, Head."

* * *

**Two**

Raoul Leandre contemplated the five men and one woman who sat around the polished, oval table.

As always, Marcel was at the end of the table with a stack of folders in front of him and his dark eyes cast downwards as he skimmed over the contents of each folder—reports of finances, politics, business, military, and family members.

Raoul didn't know the exact contents of the folders. It wasn't his job to know what the folders contained or what to do with the content of the folders. His only job was to eliminate all threats to the life of the Head of the Leandre—which was why council meetings were one of the most dangerous part of Raoul's work.

Standing directly behind Head Marcel, with short-cropped hair and a brooding expression, was Raoul's fellow bodyguard, Bastien Charlot. Bastien's eyes flickered over the documents. He probably understood the contents of the reports much better than Raoul; Bastien had a knack for numbers and strategy.

As the possessor of the Warrior's Seat and the Lady of the Leandre, she sat on her husband's immediate right. Her auburn hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail and her legs crossed neatly beneath the table, Sabine kept her head held high, refusing to back down from the stares of any of the male council members. This caused Raoul to suppress a smile, Sabine had not changed in all the years he'd known her.

On the Head's direct left was Ignace Leandre, Marcel's uncle. Raoul had never liked the man—mainly because Ignace had tried to marry Raoul's mother, Charlotte, only a year after her husband abandoned the Leandre. Ever since the day Ignace had secretly confessed to Raoul that there might be a wedding in the future, Raoul had held a passionate dislike for the man—everything from Ignace's expensive black suits to his curling brown hair. Unfortunately, since Ignace was in charge of the Leandre's legal affairs, he had a position on the Head's Council, which meant that Raoul was forced to see Ignace once every ten day cycle.

Sitting next to Ignace was the man who was responsible for protecting the Leandre library and ensuring that the Leandre children were properly educated, Richaud Leandre. (He was Raoul's second or third cousin. Or maybe fourth.) Richaud was one of the few middle-aged men in the Houses who had never married, and if the rumors were true about his frequent visits to the red light district, Richaud was doing a splendid job of fulfilling his role as the eternal bachelor. But despite his late night wanderings, Richaud was capable at his job and Marcel trusted him at the council table.

Bonnaire Mannes, whose job was to look after the Leandre's finances, sat at the far end of the table. He was a slightly plump man with a receding hairline whose kindly features did not match his severe personality. Raoul and Bonnaire possessed a mutual dislike—the man taught mathematics to the children of the Leandre and, to put it mildly, Raoul had not been the most satisfactory student.

The final member of the council was the cheerful Eloi Leandre, the Leandre Master of Defense. Eloi commanded the Leandre chimera who served as police officers and bodyguards—which made him Raoul's boss. Eloi was not ambitious, but he was clever and cunning. His idea of a pleasant day was to invite one of his former fencing students to his room for a cup of tea and a game of strategy. Raoul always lost the game, but the tea tasted excellent.

Eloi caught Raoul staring at him and winked.

Before Raoul could respond, Marcel closed the folders he had been reading and looked up at his council. "We have quite the Spring Season ahead of us."

A murmur of agreement spread about the council. Eloi nodded enthusiastically, while Bonnaire scowled.

"The Readjustment is almost here," said Marcel. "We will have to elect candidates for each Seat. However, that is not the most pressing matter at the moment. Firstly, I would like to address the issue that Hendrik Aegon possessor of the General's Seat has been murdered." Marcel paused and scanned the room with his eyes. When he met Raoul's gaze, Raoul tried to give Marcel a nod of encouragement, but Marcel looked away first. "The Aegon, of course, is investigating the matter."

Bonnaire snorted. "By investigate, you mean Theodore Aegon sends his precious red-haired son to wander about like a lost puppy around the crime scene."

Raoul resisted the urge to roll his eyes and he could see Marcel internally doing the same thing. Sabine, on the other hand, didn't even bother to conceal her distaste.

"Dietrich Aegon was trained by the General himself," said Sabine. "They possess the same talent. From what I've heard, he's the General's Second Coming."

Bonnaire's eyes narrowed. "Where did you hear that?"

"It does not matter who in the Aegon is investigating," said Marcel before Sabine could start a fight in the council room. "The question is—do we want only the Aegon to investigate? Does this matter concern the Leandre House as well? Should we send one of our own to look into the matter or should we let the Aegon handle this on their own?"

Ignace drummed his fingers of the edge of the table. "The death of Hendrik Aegon does not concern us except that we may use it as an opportunity to take the General's Seat."

"It could concern us," said Richaud. "If the General's murderer decides to target the Leandre next."

"It's probably the Cadmus's doing," said Eloi. "They were tired to seeing Hendrik Aegon sit in the General's Seat and decided to remove him from the picture."

"In which case, Lady Sabine could be in danger." Ignace smiled in Sabine's direction.

She nodded curtly in response. "I can handle whoever the Cadmus sends at me."

"The Cadmus is a possibility," said Marcel. "But let us not point fingers without proof. Let's not ignore the possibility that the culprit could be someone outside the Houses."

"Who?" asked Bonnaire. "One of the People?" His mouth twisted in a wry smile. "I doubt it."

"Maybe it is one of the People," said Sabine. "Even they could kill Hendrik Aegon with the right timing and enough preparation."

"Hendrik Aegon is not such a fool," snapped Bonnaire.

"I'm not calling him a fool." Under the table, Sabine's hands formed tight fists. "I'm saying that Hendrik Aegon is human and can make mistakes."

"Have we considered the possibility that the culprit is a foreigner?" asked Eloi.

"Dying at the hands of one of the People is too big a mistake for Hendrik Aegon to make." Ignoring Eloi's comment, Bonnaire's dark eyes narrowed into vicious slits as he stared across the table at Sabine. "Do you know what it means for a man of the Houses to be killed by one of the People?"

Sabine leaned forward, her face flushed with the heat of the argument. "So you're acknowledging that it's possible for Hendrik Aegon to be killed by one of the People, but you fear the consequences if such a statement is true, so you're just going to sit there and pretend that the possibility doesn't exist."

"Sabine." Marcel reached out a hand to touch her shoulder. "Stop."

"Why should we waste our time debating what to do _if_ such an unlikely situation had happened?" asked Bonnaire. "We should focus on what we _know_—not speculate on possibilities."

"In which case," said Ignace. "We know nothing of the murder of General Hendrik Aegon and we should address the matter of who should run for the General's Seat instead."

Marcel took a deep breath. "I will take your comments into consideration before I make a decision."

Bonnaire opened his mouth to say something, but then he caught sight of Bastien, standing behind Marcel, and thought better of it.

"What I'm curious about," said Richaud, inspecting the sleeve of his suit-jacket. "Is what are we going to do about Allison Tveit?"

Raoul resisted the urge to groan. Everywhere he went for the past couple days, all he heard about was the miraculous 3.33 of Allison Tveit. It was incredible, yes, but not unmanageable. With enough preparation, Raoul was certain that his sword could overcome her talent—after all, a 3.33 was only a number. Skill was what it came down to in the end.

"I can handle Allison Tveit," said Sabine. "She has barely come of age, while I've been sitting on this Seat for almost six years now."

"But what if you can't handle her?" asked Bonnaire. "The Numbers indicate that if you two were to fight, the battle would end in her favor."

"It's not always about the Numbers," said Eloi. "Experience factors into it."

"How ruthless is Allison Tveit?" asked Ignace.

"I don't know," said Eloi. "I've never met her—have you?"

"I saw her," said Bastien abruptly.

All eyes turned to stare at the bodyguard's somber face. Bastien tensed slightly under all the attention; however, he did not waver and continued to speak in a straight, easy tone.

"I attended her Tasking Ceremony at the Head's command. She seemed timid and frightened before the Tasking Ceremony and she fell unconscious after she emerged."

Bonnaire snorted. "So she's nothing but a Number."

"He's not finished speaking," said Marcel, turning in his chair t face Bastien.

"She seems timid—but when the doors of the Chamber opened." Bastien paused. He seemed unable to find the right words to describe the experience. He stared at the tabletop, his brown eyes looking past the wooden surface. "Allison Tveit seemed frightened and she passed out in fear, but what happens outside of the Chamber does not reflect what happened inside the Chamber. I cannot speak for the Leandre, only for myself, but I was present when that monstrous 3.33 appeared. And I can tell you that Iam very afraid of Allison Tveit."

At the end of his piece, Bastien's eyes flickered upwards. He saw the grim men sitting around the table and quickly turned his gaze toward the round, warm face of Marcel. Raoul watched the wave of relief flash through Bastien's eyes before he returned to glaring at the floor. Marcel turned back to the council, his chin lifted and his eyes set in their stubborn way. Raoul pitied them, but not as much as he pitied the woman in front of him.

"I can handle Allison Tveit," said Sabine.

Ignace ignored her. "There are two possibilities. First, we can leave Allison Tveit be and hope that Sabine can keep the Warrior's Seat. Second, we can try to prevent Allison Tveit from competing for the Warrior's Seat."

"There are always more than two possibilities, my friend." Eloi leaned back in his seat and ran his fingers through his wavy, gray hair. "How do we prevent Allison Tveit from competing for the Warrior's Seat? We can try to convince her to join the Leandre instead of the Cadmus—a terrible option in my opinion. She was raised by the Cadmus and most likely feel gratitude towards them. Besides, Head Louisa would never let Allison go so easily. We can try to convince Allison that leaving the Houses altogether is the best option for her—again, difficult to convince her of since life amongst the Cadmus House is all she has known since she was six. We can try to injure her so she cannot use her talent—difficult to do since only a few people have the ability to restrain someone's talent and the Cadmus keeps Allison Tveit well protected. We can try to assassinate her—that would rid us of any serious competition for the Warrior's Seat, but it's difficult to assassinate strong chimera who are protected by a House." Eloi frowned. "That's all I've got at the moment."

"I won't allow her assassination," said Marcel. "Not from the Leandre."

Bonnaire grunted in disagreement.

"Shame," said Eloi. "That was the easiest option."

"It would be nice," said Richaud. "To have the _two_ strongest chimeras alive on the side of the Leandre House." He let out a bark of laughter. "She can marry Raoul."

Raoul started at the thought. "Me? But Richaud—I had so hoped to follow dutifully in your bachelor footsteps."

Richaud let a fit of laughter. "A fine choice."

A smile flickered across Marcel's face. "Don't worry, Raoul. I won't ask you to marry Allison Tveit."

Only then did Raoul breathe a sigh of relief.

* * *

**Three**

Gull Vidar had always been jealous of her brother's cot. The three of them—her, Lisabet, and Knute—had shared one room all their lives. Lisabet and Gull shared the bed that was pressed against the bathroom wall, so Gull always knew when her father had to get up in the middle of the night to pee, and Knute used the cot opposite the door, the bed that rested beneath the dusty window. When she was seven, Gull discovered that she could sprawl on her back across Knute's cot, and the small window was at the perfect angle that she could see the orange-tinted night sky.

About a year ago, one of her customers had told her that in other places—places outside of Shion—city lights did not pollute the sky, and when the sun went down, stars appeared. The man had tried to describe stars to Gull, but the best he could come up with was "gemstones in black silk". Gull had never seen gemstones or black silk, except from the wrong side of a store window. The image meant nothing to her. Nevertheless, she'd thanked the customer, he'd paid for her services, and she'd never seen him since—but that was how the business went.

As Gull lay in the empty cot, staring up at the patch of starless sky, she thought of her brother. She hadn't seen him in almost three days. He had gone out after dinner, saying he was going to meet with a friend for drinks, but he never returned after.

Knute had disappeared before, for a night or two—the nature of his work sometimes prevented him from coming home, just as Gull's work in the red light district often kept her away some nights. For the most part, the Vidar family pretended not to notice. Gudrun had created a fantasy for herself that Knute was having a sleepover with his childhood friend, Collum. (Gull did not have the heart to tell her mother that Knute and Collum had not spoken for nearly ten years.) While Lisabet and Gull spent the days wandering the districts of Shion, searching for any sign of their missing brother, Gudrun recited stories of the days when Collum and Knute would play kickball in the streets together. Konrad had gone to the police that afternoon, asking them to look for his missing son, but there was little hope that the police would put in a real effort, if they put in any effort at all.

The bedroom door opened and closed. Gull looked over just in time to see Lisabet collapse on the other bed and fling her arms over her face.

"I couldn't find him."

"I couldn't either," said Gull.

"Obviously. Or you wouldn't be here."

After a moment's silence, Gull murmured, "The view is pretty."

Lisabet made a noise of disgust. "The view is as pretty as your head is empty."

"Thanks." Gull turned her gaze back to the bleak sky. She wished so desperately that she could see the stars. "Did you go to school today?"

"What do you think?"

"Da's paying for it. You should go."

"Da doesn't pay for anything," said Lisabet. "Knute pays for it and he's not here."

"I pay for it," said Gull. At this point, she didn't even have to see the stars. She would've been happy to see anything other than the hideous dark orange blanket that stretched over the city.

"I could just not go to school," said Lisabet softly. "You could quit your job and I could just not go to school."

"Now who has an empty head?" Gull gave her sister a big, empty smile. "If you quit school and I quit my job, you'll just end up taking my place. And hear this from me—you'd make a shitty whore."

Lisabet laughed.

Gull stretched out her arms above her head, the sheets rustling beneath her. "There's so much space now."

"Yeah." Lisabet rolled over in her bed. "I miss Knute."

"He'll be back." Gull was surprised by her own vehemence. "He'll be back."

* * *

**Four**

Dietrich Aegon couldn't help it; he'd been born seeing the colors of people's souls. For the first nine years of his life, the world had been a blur of a thousand different colors and a thousand different shades, mixed together as souls glimmered and paths crossed. Dietrich would play in the garden, following different soul paths and seeing who he would find at the end of each one. It was game. A brightly colored game of hide-and-seek that Dietrich could play alone. Sascha, his half-sister, saw colors too, but they weren't the same. She saw the colors of emotions while he saw the colors of souls. But even then, they understood each other on a level that no one else could. So they played together when they were little. They would run through the Aegon gardens and call out the names they created for the different colors they saw.

It was an easy childhood.

And then, the incident with Marius occurred. At the time, Dietrich did not fully understand what he had seen. He recalled telling Elsa Aegon about the colorful paths merging together and then the tears in her eyes as she saw her eldest son's body dangling by a rope.

After that, the colors weren't so much fun.

Dietrich still remembered that sunny day in the summer of his ninth year a few days after Marius's funeral. Dietrich had been sitting in a corner of the library, reading a book about the adventures of Aegon, the Chimera's First Son. Sascha had begged him to play the color game with her, but he'd refused. He had outgrown the game. He had better things to do. Any excuse to avoid seeing the colors ever again.

It was in the library that his father came for him.

It must have been the first time that Dietrich's father had hugged him. The cold, unfeeling face of the Head of the Aegon had disappeared and was replaced by an understanding, sympathetic expression. The Head had scooped nine-year-old Dietrich up in his arms and held the boy close. He'd whispered to Dietrich, told him that there was a way to make the colors go away-not forever, but enough.

The Head had taken Dietrich to Henrik Aegon. Hendrik, who had possessed the same talent, taught Dietrich how to stop the excess soul from pouring over the edges of his mind. He taught Dietrich to build and maintain walls, how to hold back the rush of color and only release them when needed.

And the lessons had helped.

Somewhat.

There was no way to hold back the flow forever. Sometimes, Dietrich let out the colors in doses. Find a place where he was alone and let his world fill with the bright lights of his childhood. Easy. Controlled. There was nothing to fear.

But other times, Dietrich could not hold it back. The walls collapsed and the world became streaked with color once more. And, as much as Dietrich tried to block it out, he discovered those secrets that he didn't want to know.

Dietrich sat on the steps of the porch outside his brick cottage and stared out over the Aegon grounds. His fingers curled around a cup of bitter, cold coffee. He'd been on the porch for two hours now, waiting for the colors to disappear.

The soft trickle of the gardener's turquoise soul. The thick, vibrant crimson of Adam Aegon's soul accompanied by the pale green path of another one of his lovers. The butter-yellow, the mint-green, the royal blue of his young cousins' souls left paths across the grass in which they had rolled and played earlier that day. There were traces of Gereon and Markus Aegon's souls from yesterday. The purple, scarlet, indigo, and orange paths of four women who had decided to have a picnic a couple days ago.

All the evidence lay right before Dietrich's eyes and he learned the secrets of his family.

He knew that his half-brother, Xaver, liked to skip work and find a place in the garden to sleep instead. He knew that little Niels Aegon tried on his mother's make-up while she was at work. He knew that the maid stole forks from the silverware cabinet. He knew that Adam Aegon was having an affair with a married woman. He knew that his aunt, Adala, visited the red light district late at night. And he knew that Sascha and her half-brother had been sleeping together for the past three years.

Dietrich leaned forward, his head propped up by his arms.

Sibling relationships had been banned by the Aegon for thirty years now. The Head was determined to stamp out the mental illnesses that supposedly plagued sibling marriages. Surely, Sascha and Christoph knew the penalty if their relationship was discovered. Surely, Sascha knew that Dietrich would see her soul path merge with Christoph's. Surely, she knew that Dietrich knew her secret. And surely, she knew that Dietrich would keep it.

Dietrich felt a wave of anger towards his half-sister. She knew how much the colors pained him, and yet she expected him to bear the burden of her secret. Did she know that, in his dreams, her face overlapped with Marius' sometimes? Was she really that selfish? Or was she just careless? Or did she just not care? Perhaps, at some point in the process of growing up, she had left the colors behind, unaware that Dietrich was still trapped inside them.

The colors at the edges of Dietrich's vision started to fade away. The reds and blues that had been vivid before paled and became opaque.

Dietrich took a deep breath and lifted the cup of coffee to his lips. The drink was now cold, but Dietrich sipped it anyway. A little longer and then he could go back inside.

* * *

**Five**

Raoul watched as the council members left the room. Bonnaire Mannes left so quickly that if Raoul had blinked he would have missed it. Richaud Leandre scooped up all his papers in his right hand, trying and failing to keep them in an orderly stack. He laughed and saluted Raoul on his way out. Ignace Leandre left next. He nodded his head in farewell to Marcel, murmured some words to Sabine and then passed Raoul with a curt smile. He didn't spare a glance for Bastien. Eloi Leandre was, as always, the last to depart. He moved at his own leisurely pace, completely unaware that he might be inconveniencing anymore. Eloi placed all his folders in a perfect stack, placed the papers in the color-coded sections of his briefcase, snapped the case shut, and then strolled to the door. He paused to comment of Sabine's new haircut before exiting the room.

The moment the door closed behind Eloi, Head Marcel slumped in his seat and let out a low groan. "Do they ever stop biting at each other's throats?"

"No," said Sabine. "Vicious lions, aren't they?"

"You're no better than them." Raoul slide into the seat that had previously been occupied by Ignace. "Do you have nothing better to do than snap at Bonnaire Mannes?"

Sabine folded her arms over her chest. "He was being an idiot. Didn't you hear him? Ignoring every possibility but the one that suits him best."

"So let him ramble," said Raoul. "I'd rather let him talk to himself than watch you two have a cat fight in the middle of a council meeting."

"A cat fight?" asked Sabine.

"I was going with the lion metaphor."

Marcel sighed and massaged his temples. "You two stop it. I need you on the same page right now."

Sabine shot Raoul one more deadly glare before she turned back to Marcel with a sweet smile. "How can I help you, hubby?"

Raoul bit the inside of his mouth. Marcel's reaction was, as always, both amusing and painful to watch. The left side of Marcel's lips quirked up into a deformed half-smile and his eyes strayed treacherously to Bastien's steeled face.

When he'd recovered, Marcel turned to Sabine and Raoul and said, "Bonnaire, Ignace, Eloi…they will try to assassinate Allison Tveit, won't they?"

Raoul nodded. "Most definitely."

"The question is," said Sabine. "How long before they try to assassinate her? If we're lucky, the Aegon will get to her first and we won't have the guilt of killing an innocent girl."

"Woman," corrected Bastien. "She's twenty-three."

Sabine rolled her eyes. "Anyone younger than me is a girl in my eyes—that includes you, Raoul."

"By a whole four days." Raoul yawned and scratched the back of his head.

Marcel shook his head as he turned to Bastien. "I love how Raoul completely misses the part where Sabine calls him a girl."

Bastien chuckled.

Marcel allowed himself a small laugh before he sobered up again. "I don't want the Leandre to be responsible for the death of a girl—or woman. Not when she has committed no offense against the Leandre. I can't control the Aegon, but I want you three to ensure that the council members do not act against my wishes."

Raoul shrugged. "It's not like I can control them."

"We can try to stop them," said Bastien.

"We can try," said Sabine. The words came out more as a sigh than a conviction. "I keep telling you though, I can defeat Allison Tveit in combat. The Warrior's Seat is mine."

"I know," said Marcel. "But we must prepare for every possible outcome. If I could, I would like to convince Allison Tveit to join the Leandre—this is a longshot, but we can promise her freedoms that the Cadmus never allowed her."

"Like what?" asked Raoul.

"Few people have seen her in public. Most likely the Cadmus has kept her cooped up inside their Mansion to prevent anything from happening to their prize chimera. We can promise her more access to the outside world."

"They'll probably keep her locked up until the Warrior's Seat Competition," said Sabine. "In case, the Aegon or the Leandre or whatever else is out there tries to convert her or kill her."

Marcel nodded. "They might, but we must still try. At least, if they keep her locked up, we don't have to worry about assassination attempts."

"It's hard enough to be your bodyguard," said Raoul. "But now we have to act as bodyguards to a girl as well. You'd better be paying me double for this."

"You don't need money," said Marcel.

"No. But I like money."

Sabine rolled her eyes. "You're a scoundrel."

"Thanks. I try my best."

Marcel stopped paying attention as the conversation got off topic. As he slouched back in his chair, an exhausted shadow crossed Marcel's face. Wrinkles that shouldn't be there appeared at the corners of his eyes. Raoul knew that expression well. They all did. Marcel's father had died almost eight years ago, leaving Marcel the Head of the Cadmus at the age of twenty-one. As they stood at the previous Head's funeral, watching his body burn so that his soul may be free, Raoul could still recall the murmurs of the chimera. Marcel was too young. Twenty-one was too young. Someone with more experience should take over. Not him. Not him. Not him. Sabine and Raoul could only stand at Marcel's side and hope that their support was enough.

It wasn't.

Marcel leaned back in his leather chair. He closed his eyes and let out a long breath. Then, he rolled his head to the side and opened his eyes just wide enough that he could stare up at Bastien. The shadow on Marcel's face seemed to lighten just a bit and the fixed, grim expression on Bastien's face softened a little.

"We will try," said Bastien.

"I know," said Marcel. "That's all I can ask."

* * *

**Six**

The blue and purple lights pulsed to the beat of techno music. The nightclub had recently decided to hire a new personality and redecorate the interior to compete with the other nightlife in the red light district. The revitalized club was pounding with life. Women in tight dresses and men in jeans and blazers swung their hips in time to the beat. Hands went wandering and all verbal communication was lost in the heavy rhythm.

Anton Macris leaned against the bar counter and sipped his martini, watching the young men and women on the dance floor. He was avoided, for the most part. One look at his thick, black curls and his dark-skin caused the club-goers to skirt around him.

A blonde woman in a short, purple dress walked by and gave Anton the once-over. She turned her nose up in disdain and strode away. Anton watched her chat with her friends at the other side of the room, reminding himself that, even with her full-blood Shion heritage, her soul was nothing more than the steady drip of a tap.

Anton sneered at her as he turned away. When he was in primary school, the other boys—the ones with brown hair, fair skin, and the classic Shion nose—would rub dirt in his face and say that it matched his skin. When, at the age of eleven, he discovered he'd inherited his mother's talent, the other children learned it was better to leave him alone.

Anton pressed the rim of his drink to his lips. He watched three drunk men spot a group of mildly attractive young women and then make their way across the floor. Anton kept an eye on the shortest of the three men, whose name, if Anton had heard correctly, was Espen.

Espen and his friends approached the young women and struck up conversation. The women teetered on their heels, laughing and flirting as much as they could over the loud music.

Already, Anton disliked Espen. The young man had the typical look of a full-blood Shion boy—soft, brown hair and brown eyes, a round face and a slightly upturned nose. He laughed with his friends, but he also stood slightly apart from them. Every once in a while, Espen's gaze would wander away from the conversation, not looking at anyone in particular, but away.

Years of training and experience had taught Anton how to identify a Nameless chimera. They tended to stand apart from the crowd—brimming with confidence that they possessed something more than the people around them did. But they also had a distance to them, a need for something more than what life had given them.

Espen possessed these two trait, which marked him as a possible chimera. However, Anton decided to wait, to see if there were any more indicators, before he approached the young man.

Anton had never enjoyed fishing, but, unfortunately, he was good at it. Three years ago, Niklas Pehr had asked Anton to fish for potential recruits, and, because he could never say no to Niklas, Anton had agreed. After long days at the port, packing crates of imported food onto trucks and earning his paycheck, Anton spent many late nights floating from bar to bar, nightclub to nightclub searching for Nameless chimera. Sometimes, he got lucky. He would convince a disgruntled Nameless chimera to join a higher cause. And other times, Anton slunk back to his apartment in the South District and collapsed on his sofa, too tired to even reach his bed.

Espen stepped back as his friend took one of the young women out to the dance floor. Soon, the other girls were migrating towards the floor, bringing Espen and his friend with them.

Anton watched them for a moment, trying to ignore his growing headache. He finished off his drink and turned to the bartender to ask for more, but the man's attention was captured by two women.

Drumming his fingers on the counter, Anton wished his sister could've come. Caarina Macris was much better at fishing than her brother. She had an easy smile that charmed anyone she approached and she talked in a spirited, fast-paced manner that called people to her. However, she was working the night shift at her restaurant though and would probably return home even later than him.

Anton was snapped out of his thought by the sudden movement of Espen and one of the women. She took his arm in hers and started pulling him towards the exit. Espen grinned and leaned forward to whisper something in the woman's ear. She laughed and tossed her brown hair. They left through the back exit into the street behind the club.

Sighing, Anton placed his empty martini glass on the counter and headed towards the back exit. He cut across the dance floor, weaving through the swaying bodies. He bumped into one black-haired girl and she cried out in alarm. Ignoring her drunken insults, Anton headed straight for the door. He pushed on the metal bar and the exit door swung open.

The chilly, spring weather was a relief. The damp, sweat-soaked air of the nightclub was gone and Anton was greeted by the fresh air of the dark alleyway, lit only by dim yellow lights.

Anton glanced to his right and then his left—catching sight of two figures a little ways down the street. The woman was leaning back against the brick wall of the nightclub, her arms wrapped around Espen's shoulders and her head tilted back as his mouth worked its way about her neck.

Anton suppressed a groan. He should've just waited inside rather than chase after a potential Nameless chimera.

He turned around and pulled on the door handle. He could hear the heavy beat of the music from outside. Anton paused. He didn't want to go back to the loud, sweaty nightclub where he could not move without touching someone inappropriately. He would've left earlier if he hadn't spotted Espen.

"Show me," said the woman, her voice breathless and high-pitched. "You said you'd show me."

"Not yet," muttered Espen.

Anton groaned. He twisted the door handle and took a step inside.

"I want to see the lights," said the woman. "You said you'd show me the lights."

"Later."

"Now." The woman's voice suddenly grew forceful.

Anton glanced back and saw that the two people were no longer intertwined. The woman was pointing one long, pale arm at Espen. Now that Anton got a good look at her, he realized that she was nothing more than a girl wearing too much make-up. She had to be about seventeen or eighteen in age and she wore a dozen colored friendship bracelets on her right arm. Espen's face was scrunched with frustration as he stared at the girl.

"You promised me you'd show me your talent," said the girl.

"I was joking." Espen stumbled backwards a little, alcohol making him even on his feet. "I just wanted to get some fresh air."

The girl scoffed. "So you lied? You're not a chimera."

Espen pulled his lips back and sneered, "Of course, I'm a chimera."

"You don't look like one." The girl teetered on her heels. "You look like a simple bellhop from the Central Hotel."

Espen opened his mouth to respond, but stopped when he notice Anton's presence. Espen's brow furrowed as he took in Anton's appearance. Finally, finding words in his intoxicated brain, Espen said, "What do you want?"

Anton let the door close and leaned against the side of the building, a smile fixed on his face. "Isn't it obvious? I want to see the lights."

"What?" Espen squinted at Anton, trying to see if Anton was serious or not.

"The lights." The girl folded her arms over her chest. "He wants to see the lights too."

"You should go back inside," said Anton, looking pointedly at the girl.

"What?" she said. "Why?"

"Who are you to tell her what to do?" Espen caught hold of the girl's wrist and pulled her closer.

"You and I," said Anton. "We have business to discuss."

"What business could I possibly have with you?" asked Espen. "You're a creeper and a pervert."

Anton sighed. "I'm a chimera."

Espen blinked while the girl's eyes grew wide with awe. Her arm fell limp in Espen's grasp and she said, "Can you show me? I've never seen someone use their talent before."

Anton smirked triumphantly at Espen and then said to the girl, "Unfortunately, my talent isn't something pretty. I can't make lights or see the colors of your soul." He stepped closer to the girl as he spoke. "But that doesn't mean I'm not a chimera. Even amongst us, there are those who are given the heavier burdens."

He came to a halt an arm's length away from the girl. Espen was still holding on to her. She was rooted to the spot, her gaze fixated on Anton. He extended a hand and cupped the side of her face. She welcomed his soft touch, closing her eyes and breathing in deeply. Anton reached into the well of excess soul, drawing out only a little. He pushed the excess soul through his fingertips and watched the reaction.

She screamed. As through someone had shoved a dozen needles into the side of her face, she screamed. She pulled away from Anton, still screeching like a wild animal. She lost her balance and toppled to the ground. She sat there for a moment, legs sprawled out in front of her, and one hand clutched to the cheek where Anton had touched her, and then she began to weep.

"We are chimera," said Anton. "We do not exist for the entertainment of young girls like you. Now leave. Go back inside and have fun with your friends."

The girl nodded mutely. Shakily, she got to her feet. She glanced at Espen, who had not made a move to help her, and then she scampered to the metal door. Anton and Espen watched her haul the door open and slip back inside to the pulsing music and flashing lights. The door slammed behind her.

"Now," said Anton, turning back to the pale-faced Espen. "To business."

Espen took a step back, throwing his hands up in front of him. "Look, man. I don't want any trouble. She asked me to come outside and I said sure."

"What's your last name, Espen?" asked Anton.

"How do you know—"

"Answer the question."

Espen swallowed. "Grier. My name is Espen Grier."

"And how old are you, Espen Grier?"

"Twenty-four."

He was the same age as Caarina. "What's your talent?"

"I can create different colored lights."

Anton mouth formed a stiff smile. "And your parents? Were they chimera or of the People?"

"Of the People."

"And you work as a bellhop at Central Hotel?"

Espen nodded, his cheeks red with shame. "Yes."

"Then let me ask you a question, Espen Grier—how do you feel about your life right now?"

Espen was taken aback by this question. He glanced at Anton as though looking for some indication of the correct answer, but Anton's face remained impassive as he watched Espen struggle to find a response.

Finally, Espen said, "I hate it."

"Why?"

"They all look at me as though they expect some answer to come from me. I'm a chimera, they say. Shouldn't I do more than work as a bellhop at a hotel?" He swallowed. "I applied to join the police force and they rejected me. I didn't have enough experience and my talent wouldn't help me, they said. What do they expect? The police, my family, my friends. What do they expect from a man who can only make pretty lights to entertain drunk girls?"

A wry smile appeared on Anton's face as he placed a hand on Espen's shoulder. Espen's eyes widened and he quickly stepped back, the memories of Anton's talent still fresh in his mind. Anton kept a firm grasp on Espen's shoulder, pulling the young man closer.

"Let me tell you about an organization called Those Who Name Themselves."

* * *

**I'm on an editing role, so here's chapter four - which is, thankfully, not as long as the previous chapter. Anton's part is a new addition from the original version, so I'm curious what people's reactions to him are. **


	5. The Announcement

**5. The Announcement**

**36 Day of Spring, 1288**

* * *

**One**

As hungry as Allison was, she couldn't touch the food in front of her. In celebration of her astounding 3.33 Tasking Number, the ballroom of the Cadmus Mansion had been decorated by order of Head Louisa.

The Head disliked using the hall except for special occasions, so for the most part, the ballroom, with its jade-green walls and curved, stone corbels, was left empty. The dome ceiling hosted the Cadmus colors of dark green, navy blue, and silver amongst the shapes of intertwined serpents slithering across the plaster, accompanied by the etched symbols of some old and forgotten language. Circular tables covered in dark green tablecloths and silver serpent centerpieces filled the halls. All six-hundred members of the Cadmus were in attendance. Dressed in their best attire, the men, women, and children chatted eagerly over the main course of roast lamb and asparagus salad. The whole ballroom buzzed with eager excitement of the announcement to come.

Except the center table. All conversation came to a halt at the center table of the ballroom.

Allison prodded her asparagus salad with her fork and wondered if she could choke something down without throwing up over her yellow gown. She decided it was better not to risk public humiliation and instead glanced at the young man sitting on her right.

Nathaniel, potential husband number one, looked nauseous. There was a greenish tinge to his pale cheeks and his eyes were clouded over as he carefully ate his dinner. Allison tried to say his name, but the words died in her throat. She picked up her water glass instead and took a sip. Her eyes flickered to the man on her left where Michael Cadmus, potential husband number two, sipped his wine through a grimace.

Now that she sat between the two men, Allison realized just how similar Michael and Nathaniel looked. They both had the same short-cropped, ash-blond hair and they both had the bright blue eyes possessed by all the full-blooded Cadmus, but their similarities went beyond that. They both had broad, strong shoulders (though Nathaniel was slightly slimmer), they both had square jaws (but Michael had a rounder face), and throughout the celebration, they both wore the same somber expression.

Michael's parents were seated on his left. Samuel Cadmus was not a talkative man. He'd worked in the Shion police force for most of his life and had never considered any other career. His ambition, from what Allison had been told, was next to nothing; it was Sarah Cadmus who wanted to see her son in the Head's position.

Sarah was daintily taking a sip of wine when she caught Allison's curious stare. Her red-painted lips curled into a smile, and she raised her glass in greeting. Embarrassed to have been caught, Allison quickly looked away.

Sarah let out a soft laugh. "You look lovely tonight, Allison. I adore your dress."

"Thank you." Allison lifted her head, meeting Sarah's sharp gaze. Allison felt her chest grow tight and realized that she had forgotten to breathe. "Your dress is beautiful, Sarah. I've been admiring it all night."

It was, indeed, a gorgeous dress. It was a dark, floor-length, pleated dress that made Sarah seem ten years younger. On the other side of the table, Margaret Cadmus had bought one of the most expensive dresses she could find for the occasion—a silver column dress with lace embroidery along the waistband. Allison felt small and plain-looking in comparison to the grand women at the table.

"You are a dear," said Sarah.

Allison didn't know what to say to that, so she decided to say nothing. She was very aware that everyone at the table was watching at her, scrutinizing her every movement. Allison glanced at Nathaniel, hoping he could offer her some sort of comfort, but Nathaniel's glazed eyes were still fixated on his plate.

The company once again sunk into stony silence.

Robert Cadmus finished his lamb shank and placed his silverware back on the table. He wasn't a man made for fancy functions. With a massive figure who filled up more than his space at the table, Robert was made for combat—not for wearing suits and telling the difference between a salad fork, a dinner fork, and a dessert fork.

"The lamb was excellent," said Robert.

"Yes," said Margaret. "The salad too. I do love asparagus."

Their comments sunk onto stony silence. Robert took a swig of wine, his eyes flitting from side to side nervously. He set the glass down, and said, "Excellent wine, too."

"I do love red wine," said Head Louisa.

Robert's eyes lit with relief when he realized that he had managed to spark his mother into conversation. He smiled at Head Louisa. "You always have red wine at dinner."

"And tea afterward." Head Louisa dabbed her lips with a napkin. "They'll be serving some with the dessert. My specific request."

Personally, Allison would rather a steaming cup of hot chocolate. She could taste it now, sweet on her tongue. She wanted nothing more than to be back in the kitchen, sitting at the marble island and sipping a cup of instant hot chocolate while telling Nathaniel about her day.

She glanced at Nathaniel again, hoping she could draw some kind of conversation out of him, but he was staring across the room. Allison followed his line of sight and realized he was staring at the exit.

"I enjoy coffee myself," said Michael. "Milk but no sugar. What about you, Allison?"

Allison's head snapped around at the sudden use of her name. She stared, wide-eyed, at the smiling face of Michael Cadmus. That might have been the first thing her potential husband had said to her all evening.

"Me?" Allison's voice squeaked against her will.

"Do you prefer coffee or tea?" asked Michael.

"Hot chocolate."

A mocking smile toyed at Sarah's lip as she took another delicate sip of red wine.

"Adrianna once showed me how to make homemade hot chocolate once," said Michael. "I hate the instant packs."

"Homemade?" asked Head Louisa curiously.

Out of the corner of her eye, Allison saw Robert shift uncomfortably and shoot Nathaniel a warning glare—Michael was charming the Head while Nathaniel did nothing.

"The recipe Adrianna used had cinnamon and orange zest in it," said Michael. "It was surprisingly good."

"Adrianna has always enjoyed odd recipes," said Head Louisa, nodding.

"How is Adrianna doing?" asked Sarah. "I haven't talked to her in what feels like an age."

"She's doing well. I hear that her mother has started to teach her personally."

"Are they hoping that Helena can bring out the girl's talent?"

Head Louisa nodded. "Poor girl. Most chimera have shown some hint of talent by that age."

Allison felt a twist in her stomach and felt a wave of pity for Adrianna Cadmus. At the age of twenty, Adrianna still hadn't shown signs of possessing a chimera's talent. Her parents, Phillip Cadmus and Helena Askal-Cadmus, were beginning to worry. But Adrianna still had three years before her Tasking Ceremony, three years to discover her talent. If nothing happened in those three years—Allison dreaded the fate of a daughter of the Cadmus who had no talent.

"Give her time," said Margaret. "She has strong parents, surely their talent passed down to her. Sometimes the strongest souls don't show their abilities until the Tasking Chamber." She gave a meaningful glance in Allison's direction.

"For Adrianna's sake," said Head Louisa. "Let's hope so."

Head Louisa did not allow for further conversation. She lifted her eyes and scanned the hall for a moment. Then, she placed her carefully folded napkin on the table and rose from her seat. Her eyes briefly rested on Allison's face. A shiver of dread started in the pit of Allison's stomach and spread across her body. She felt bile rise in the back of her throat, but she swallowed the burning liquid away and kept her gaze firmly on the Head.

"I have an announcement." Head Louisa didn't speak loudly, but her presence and the simple snap of her voice cast the ballroom into silence. Every single member of the Cadmus stopped talking, stopped eating, and focused all their attention on the grand woman standing before them.

"We have gathered here today to celebrate our Allison Tveit's impressive Tasking Number." Head Louisa paused to allow for applause. Allison felt her face warm. The Head smiled at the contents of the room and then continued, "But I confess there was another reason I wanted to hold this celebration. As you all know, almost twelve years ago I announced that I would name one of my two grandsons as my heir."

The Head gestured to Michael and Nathaniel. Both men were paying rapt attention to their grandmother. Michael's eyes were feverish in their intensity, while Nathaniel looked as though he might pass out at any second.

Allison wanted to sink into her seat, disappear and never hear the end of what the Head had to say.

"I have watched both my grandsons grow into capable young men. They both possess unique traits that, when applied in the right way, can help the Cadmus reach a position of greatness."

Sarah leaned forward, her teeth clamped together. Margaret clasped her hands together, a half-smile fixed on her elegant, powdered face.

"The decision was a difficult one," said Head Louisa. "But a decision must be made. However, before I reveal to you who my heir will be, I must say a few words to Allison Tveit."

Allison sat upright, her back rigid. All eye turned to her and Allison could only hope that she looked respectable.

Head Louisa smiled kindly, her eyelids crinkling around the edges. It was a show, Allison realized, for the audience. In the end, it was all just a show.

"I took you under my wing," said Head Louisa. "I found you when you were six-years-old, orphaned and alone. I felt pity for you and I took you into my family. I raised you as if you were one of my own grandchildren. Even today, I feel as though you come from my own flesh and blood. I mean, look at you." Head Louisa let out a chuckle. "Your beautiful blond hair and blue eyes—you might as well just become one of the Cadmus."

The hall was filled with soft laughter. Allison held her breath. The members of the Cadmus weren't interested in the Head's compliments; they were waiting for the finale.

"And now," said Head Louisa. "As the time comes for me to announce my heir, I realize that I may now bring my third grandchild into the family legally. Allison, you have been gifted with the strongest talent the Houses have ever seen. You are a chimera, my dear, and I think everyone here tonight agrees that you should become, officially, a chimera of the Cadmus. So, it is my pleasure to announce your engagement to my heir."

She finally said it, thought Allison. She finally told the world of her plans to tie Allison to the Cadmus forever. Head Louisa didn't think of Allison as her grandchild at all, anyone with half a brain could see that. The Head just wanted the strongest chimera to belong to the Cadmus.

Allison smiled amongst the enthusiastic applause that flooded the ballroom. She could feel the gazes of Margaret and Sarah, her potential mother-in-laws, driving into her.

If Allison did marry the heir, she would become the Lady of the Cadmus. She would live by the words "the Cadmus before all else" for the rest of her life.

"Michael, Nathaniel." Head Louisa now addressed the two young men seated on either side of Allison. "You are both capable young men, and I have high hopes for the both of you in future. But only one of you can become the Head of the Cadmus. It is a position that requires the upmost responsibility. You are bound to serve your House for the rest of your life. Your soul must be the soul of the Cadmus. No less is expected of you. I hope that you understand the grave responsibilities that come with this position, and I hope you understand that I have considered both of you equally. However, after many years of watching and judging, I have decided that my grandson, Michael, is best suited to be my heir."

The words took a moment to settle in.

A look of triumph flashed through Sarah's eyes. A wild, red rage glowed in Robert's cheeks. A weary resignation in Samuel's tilted posture. A fiery indignation in Margaret's lips. A slump of relief and disappointment in Nathaniel's shoulders. A steeled victory in Michael's jaw. A near decade of preparation, all for this moment, and the decision was made.

Allison didn't know what to feel. It was as though a rock had slid down her throat and come to rest in her stomach. Her eyes fogged over, not seeing or hearing the reactions of the audience. She didn't know if she was upset or glad to finally know who she was going to marry. Some small part of her had always thought that she would marry Nathaniel—she'd mentally prepared herself for the moment when the Head spoke his name and the marriage was final—but now that she sat at a small table in the ballroom and heard the Head's decision, Allison realized that she'd always known that it would never be Nathaniel. He didn't have the strength required for the job. Ten years ago, when Head Louisa announced her decision to pass over her sons and look to her grandsons for an heir, Michael's name had already slithered its way into the back of everyone's minds. Allison had known it, and, she suspected, the Head had known it too. Allison was going to marry Michael Cadmus.

She took a deep breath.

She was going to have to tell Thom.

* * *

**Two**

Alissa Evjen watched the computer screen move from logging-off to shutting-down to black. She plucked the flashdrive from the office desk and dropped it into her purse. She would have to finish the research on Jen Brakken's court case at home. Her husband was expecting her back at the Leandre Mansion soon, and Alissa hated working overtime. As much as she respected her boss, Phillip Cadmus (and it took a lot for her to respect a member of the Cadmus), Alissa could not live at the office as he did.

Alissa snapped the briefcase shut and glanced at the analog clock on the wall. The hour hand was just past the nine.

Chef Jen Brakken had been arrested twenty days ago for attempting to poison Elsebe Mannes's salad while she was eating lunch at a restaurant with her sister. The fact that Elsebe had accused Jen Brakken of attempted murder didn't surprise Alissa. What surprised Alissa was that the Leandre House had pushed the case into Alissa's lap and forced her to bring it before Phillip Cadmus himself. Alissa had the sneaking suspicion that Bonnaire Mannes was trying to waste Phillip's time on useless cases so he would be ill prepared for the Readjustment.

Alissa sent a silent apology to Phillip.

She admired and respected her boss, but the Leandre House had asked Alissa to give the bogus case to Phillip Cadmus—and everything Alissa was, she owed to the Leandre.

Alissa locked the door of her office behind her and headed for the elevator. As she passed Phillip's office, she glanced inside to say good-bye. However, the lights were off and the office was empty. For a second, she wondered what important event could have dragged Phillip Cadmus away from his work. Then she remembered that Head Louisa Cadmus was holding a dinner for her House, which Phillip was required to attend.

Alissa pressed the button for the elevator—it was on the ground floor. However, after a minute passed by, the elevator still had not moved. She groaned and headed for the stairs. Maintenance was a pain.

She shifted the strap of her purse on her shoulder before opening the door to the stairwell. It was a long way down.

Phillip never took the elevator, Alissa reminded herself. She teased him for being slow on the stairs every morning while she rode the elevator. "Stair climbing burns more calories per minute than jogging," he would always say.

Alissa listened to the clunk of her high-heeled shoes as she climbed down the stairs. Her office was on the ninth floor of the office building, and it was a pain. Maybe she should just spend the night at the office instead of going home, or at least wait until they had fixed the elevators.

With a sigh, she continued down the stairs, her heels wobbling a little when she missed a step. She held the handrail tightly and was careful not to drop her briefcase or her purse. Alissa moved which so much care and focus that she didn't notice the man who stepped from the shadows and pressed a knife to her throat

"What are—?"

The cold blade gargled her words, and his left arm pinned her hands to her sides. Alissa stood on the edge of a step, terrified that if she moved an inch, she would slide down the stairs, out of the man's grasp, and into the blade of the knife.

"Where is Phillip Cadmus?"

"Not here." Alissa felt warm blood trickle down her neck as the blade dug into her skin.

"Where is Phillip Cadmus?" The rough voice grated against her ear.

Alissa reached inside her mind, searching for her excess soul. She could break the man's bones with her talent. If she could grab the hand holding the blade, she could force her talent through his skin and his bones would snap.

She gritted her teeth. One shot. She had one shot at it.

"Where is Phillip Cadmus?"

"Home." Alissa reached upwards, knocking the man's left arm out of the way. She grabbed hold of the right hand, the one that held the knife, and pushed her excess soul through the palms of her hands, into his wrist, into his bone, a wave of sheer power.

And then it stopped.

Suddenly. As though her talent had hit an unseen wall. She pushed with all her strength, pooling her excess soul into his arm, but her talent could not touch his bone.

"Why won't it break?" she cried.

The knife slashed into her throat.

Alissa was too shocked by the unseen wall to realize that she was dying.

* * *

**Three**

Dietrich Aegon stared at the smooth, black door of the Chamber. The door looked the exact same as it did on the 47 Day of Summer, Year 1282—the day of Dietrich's own Tasking Ceremony. The door was plain. No designs, no decorations, just a single golden knob. There was a grim simplicity to the door that sent shivers down Dietrich's spine, because he knew that what lay beyond that door was far from simple.

He glanced at the hourglass beside the door. The red sand was in the top half of the hourglass. Dietrich stared. There was only enough sand in the glass to reach the marking for 3.00—so how, he wondered, how had Allison Tveit achieved a 3.33?

"Is this it?"

The wiry figure of Knute Vidar stood a few paces behind Dietrich. Knute didn't appreciate the terrifying simplicity of the Tasking Chamber's door—not that Dietrich expected Knute to appreciate it. Knute had been raised by the People, he didn't know what it meant to stand before the black door and see the hourglass. From birth, Dietrich had been prepared for his Tasking Ceremony. His Tasking Number would determine his worth as a chimera. Dietrich had spent the first twenty-three years of his life imagining what would be on the other side of that door. Faces? Torture? Words? Fear? Death? Life? When the day of his Tasking Ceremony came and Dietrich had stepped through those doors, he discovered that what awaited him on the other side was more frightening than he had ever imagined.

"This is it," said Dietrich. "The Tasking Chamber." He glanced down at his watch. "Sixteen more minutes."

"Why do we have to wait until nine-thirty at night?"

"Tradition. This ceremony should take place thirty-three days after your twenty-third birthday at either three in the afternoon or three in the morning. Unfortunately, you're twenty-four and your birthday is in Winter. But at least we can have your ceremony at nine-thirty."

"Never been one for tradition." Knute glanced up and down the empty hallway nervously. "Does nine-thirty also have to do with the fact that no one can know we're here?"

"Yes. You're going undercover," said Dietrich. "If we want the rouge Nameless to accept you as one of them, then you must have no connection to the Houses."

Knute frowned. "Then why give me a Tasking Ceremony at all."

Dietrich suppressed a sigh. "The Tasking Ceremony is in preparation for after this assignment. Do you want to be free of the slums? Do you want to work for the Houses? Then you must have a Tasking Number. In a chimera's life, his Tasking Number determines everything. What he can do. What he can't do. We chimeras stand above the People because we are strong. We were charged by our Ancestor, the original three-headed Chimera, to protect the People. We want to put our strongest and our weakest chimeras where they can be the most effective. The Tasking Chamber helps us determine who is fit for what position."

"And a Number is necessary?"

"What we can see isn't always accurate—a Number helps. Displays of strength can lie. The strongest power can sometimes sleep until a stressful situation calls it to the surface. We don't need the Tasking Numbers, but they're helpful. It makes our duty to protect the People easier."

"Protect them from what?"

The ghost of a smile passed across Dietrich's lips. "Shion was not always the city-state you see now. Progress has changed it. Shion began over two-thousand years ago as a manufacturer's town that rested on the divide between two countries—Laque to the north and Ciosoales to the south. Shion was founded by businessmen who held no allegiance to either country. They only sought profit. They built factories and brought in workers from the impoverished Island of Araceli. The People came and they worked. The produce from the factories were sold to Laque, Ciosoales, and countries beyond. Shion grew developed and grew prosperous. Foreigners came and settled in the city. But as Shion's wealth grew, so did the number of jealous eyes that watched and craved. Laque and Ciosoales fought battles over Shion. The history books say that the bodies were stacked so high that they blotted out the sun." Dietrich shook his head. "The people of Shion were workers, businessmen, and scholars—not soldiers. So as the threat of invasion grew, the People called upon their leaders, their scholars, and their priest for aids, but those in power couldn't save them. Ciosoales and Laque bore down on Shion. The People wept, for they would soon lose their city and their freedom. And it was then, in the People's darkest hour, that the Chimera came."

Dietrich paused for a breath. He glanced at Knute and saw that the young man was listening with fascination. The image of a scrawny, red-haired boy scribbling down notes in his lessons flashed through Dietrich's mind. He smiled, and then continued.

"Some say the Chimera came from Lake Lycia. Some say the Chimera came down from the northern mountains. Some say the Chimera came from the southern grasslands. Some say the Chimera came from all three—that a serpent slithered from the lake, a goat galloped from the mountains, and a lion leapt from the grasslands—the three great creatures came together to aid the People. From those three creatures, the Chimera was created. A three headed beast with a soul of sheer, burning power. Shion's enemies knelt in the dirt before the Chimera and begged for their lives. They fled back to their homes in Laque and Ciosoales, never daring to approach Shion again. In their gratitude, the People gave the great Chimera charge of the city, so that he may defend them for all time."

"The first year of our calendar—Year 0—marks the great Chimera's death. He lived for three-hundred years, they say, and upon his deathbed, he left charge of the city to his three sons—Aegon, Cadmus, and Leandre. His children had talentsjust as their father did. Aegon saw the world and the secrets it hid, Cadmus moved the world without lifting a finger, and Leandre created from nothing. It's from these three men that the Houses are descended. Even now, we the chimera protect the People from the dangers of the world. Not that the world gives us too many problems. After the arrival of the Chimera, the People of Shion withdrew from our neighboring countries, never wanting to see the devastation of war again. To this day, the only dealings we have with the outside is trade for necessities. The Houses protect the People from each other and ensure that foreign countries don't attack Shion again. Fear of the chimera is what keep our enemies at bay."

When he finished, Dietrich watched Knute carefully, trying to gouge out Knute's reaction.

Thoughtful. That was the only emotion Dietrich could detect. The right corner of Knute's mouth was downturned and his eyes were narrowed.

Finally, Knute lifted his head and asked, "How did a three-headed beast have three human children?"

Dietrich stared at Knute, then a wicked smile twisted at his mouth. "I always assumed the three-headed beast part was an exaggeration. He was probably just a man with a strong soul."

Knute shrugged. "Rumors are a terrible thing."

"But effective," said Dietrich. "I don't know about you, but if I had been the king of Laque or Ciosoales, I would not want to mess with a three-headed beast."

"So they taught you all this?" asked Knute. "In the Aegon?"

"Ever since I was born, I've had it hammered into my brain. Along with my family tree. I can stand here and recite my family tree tracing back to the Ancestor if you'd like. My father Head Theodore Aegon whose third wife is the Nameless chimera, Emilie Mathilde-Aegon. My father's father Head Alexander who married his sister, Katarine Aegon. My grandfather's father Head Caspar who married his sister Leonore Aegon—I'm only telling you the names of the First Wives. If you want, I could to tell you about my father's three wives, my grandfather's two wives, my great-grandfather's four wives. Well, let's just say the family tree is very complicated."

Knute stuck out his tongue. "Married his sister?"

Dietrich felt a twinge in his chest as the image of Sascha and Christoph was unwillingly brought to mind. He pushed the thought and smiled. "Incest keeps the chimera bloodline strong. It was allowed in the Houses up until this century. The Cadmus and the Leandre outlawed it at the turn of the century, but in the Aegon it was legal up until twenty years ago."

"It's wrong," said Knute.

"My father's first wife is his sister, Elsa. I'm certain that was the last incestuous marriage."

"First wife?" Knute groaned.

"Polygamy is still allowed," said Dietrich. "My father's second wife, Felicie, is also his cousin. His third wife, my mother, is the only one to whom he's not related. The other two Houses outlawed polygamy one-hundred-and-fifty years ago—in the Aegon, we like to keep the tradition going."

"The Aegon is messed up," said Knute. "And I thought my family had problems."

Dietrich shook his head. "You are a chimera, you know. Even if you do not have a Name, you are somehow related to us."

Knute looked scandalized. "By the Chimera's third tail, don't tell me I'm descended from incest."

"Most definitely." Dietrich checked his watch. "Five more minutes. We should probably start soon."

"So what is the Tasking Chamber?" asked Knute. "How does it determine my Tasking Number? How does it work?"

"Terror. That's how they draw out your talent."

"They're going to scareme?" asked Knute incredulously.

"The walls of the Tasking Chamber are made from the trapped souls of criminals, murderers, and traitors. Rather than have their bodies burned and their souls freed from physical form to become one with the Ancestor, criminals' souls are tied to the walls of the Chamber. They will serve the Houses until the end of time."

"That's not creepy at all," said Knute. "You're sending me into a room full of the souls pf criminals, murderers, and traitors?"

"They will not harm you physically."

Knute frowned. "Can you even attach a soul to a room?"

"Some people can," said Dietrich. "Descendants of Cadmus." He glanced down at his watch. "Three minutes. Let's begin."

"Begin what?"

"I told you. There's a ritual to prepare you to enter the Chamber."

"Do I have to give the Chamber my blood or something?"

Dietrich ignored Knute and moved to stand in front of the black door. He motioned to Knute to do the same. Knute scooted forward until he was facing Dietrich. Dietrich noted that, despite his attitude, Knute's hands were trembling.

"Knute Vidar," said Dietrich. "On this day, the 36 Day of Spring, Year 1288 at nine o'clock in the evening, you shall enter the Tasking Chamber."

Knute stared at Dietrich blankly.

Dietrich suppressed a groan. "The response is 'As the Ancestor grants it.'"

"Oh. As the Ancestor grants it."

"This Tasking Chamber has been created out of the souls of the Ancestor's enemies. Thieves, murderers, and traitors have merged in the walls of the chamber. They will test you and they will draw out your power. You will remain in the chamber for three minutes. During that time, the chamber will measure your ability, if it exists, in this red hourglass." Dietrich gestured to the hourglass embedded in the wall.

"It exists," said Knute.

"The response is 'As the Ancestor grants it,'" said Dietrich through gritted teeth.

"As the Ancestor grants it."

"Proceed now, Knute Vidar, and may your talent be strong."

"As the Ancestor grants it."

Dietrich stepped back and pointed in the direction of the black door. Pale and nervous, Knute approached the door. He glanced back, and Dietrich saw the raw fear in Knute's eyes. Dietrich felt a wave of pity, but he did nothing to help. What happened next was in the hands of the Ancestor.

* * *

**Four**

"Why did you choose Michael?"

The question had been running through Nathaniel's mind nonstop from the moment the Head had made her announcement. It was a relief to ask finaly.

Head Louisa sat behind her desk, a cup of tea resting in her wrinkled hands. Her face was stern and emotionless as her blue eyes raked over Nathaniel. If she was tired, the Head showed no sign of it.

Once the dinner celebration had ended, Nathaniel had fled, trying to find somewhere in the Mansion that was devoid of his prying relatives. Eventually, he'd found himself sitting in a black-velvet chair outside the Head's office. Head Louisa had been answering the questions of curious relatives for almost two hours. When she'd finally managed to free herself, she'd returned to the office to find Nathaniel waiting. So now the two of them—grandson and grandmother—were face to face with only a desk between them. Nathaniel stood, his hands clenched in fists at his side, while she sat, calmly and collectedly.

The curved window behind the desk looked out at the light-polluted night sky, which, from Nathaniel's angle, made it seem as though Head Louisa was giving off some kind of eerie, ethereal glow.

The words came out breathlessly. "Why did you choose Michael?"

"Is that a question?"

Nathaniel frowned. "Did it sound like a statement?"

"I would have thought the answer was obvious." Head Louisa set down the teacup on her desk.

"I think I'm missing something," said Nathaniel.

"I've known that Michael would be my successor for years."

Nathaniel tried to swallow, but his throat was thick. "Then why tell us now? Why not sooner? What was the point?"

"I expected more from you." Head Louisa leaned back in her chair and folded her hands neatly in her lap. "I hoped you might show some ambition, some drive, something that would make me reconsider." She carefully plucked her teacup from the saucer and took a sip of the steaming drink. "But you disappointed me. You only tried to escape the Cadmus. You applied to the College of Shion. You spent your time cooped up in a library reading fiction books about places far away from Shion. The only reason you're even standing before me right now is because you know what your parents expect of you and you don't want to disappoint them."

"No." Nathaniel pressed his lips together. "No, I wanted it. I truly did. I wanted to expand my knowledge so I'd be a better Head. I wanted to—" Nathaniel stared at Head Louisa's hard, blue eyes and realized his protests were useless. He took a deep breath. "What would you have me do now, Head?"

If the Head was surprised by his sudden resignation, she didn't show it. She finished off her tea with a long sip, and then said, "I would have you do your duty to the Cadmus."

Nathaniel had never felt as tired as he did right then. He could feel the shadows forming under his eyes as the haze of exhaustion set in. The Head's commands meant nothing to him anymore. He wanted nothing more than to collapse in his bed and sleep for a hundred years. Maybe when he woke up, the world would be less spiteful. Somehow, he doubted it.

Nathaniel stepped backwards. "Thank you for your time, grandmother."

The word surprised her. The Head's eyes widened slightly and her lips parted. She might have been on the cusp of saying something, but the door closed firmly behind Nathaniel before she could speak.

* * *

**Five**

The Tasking Chamber was pitch black. With each and every breath, the thick darkness flooded his lungs. The sensation was painful, sending jagged shocks across Knute's chest, like someone was stabbing his lungs repeatedly with a needle. He was drowning. He couldn't swim. Icy water filled his mouth and nose, curled around his limbs and torso, pushing him downwards. Where was the surface? He could see nothing through the darkness. The water was heavy, a great weight pressing him into a small, helpless ball. Was he going to die like this? Was this all an Aegon plot to kill him? Maybe they thought he had murdered the General?

No.

Knute snapped back to his senses.

He was in the Tasking Chamber. Thousands of souls were trying to torment him and he had to fight back. He was supposed to fight back.

Knute spread out his excess soul, trying to push the water away—but there was nothing in the room to fight except the four stone walls, the ceiling, and the floor that he stood on. The water was a lie. A dream. It didn't exist. Knute took a deep breath and found that, despite the feeling of water wrapped around him like an icy blanket, there was still air in the room.

And then the scene changed.

The water disappeared and Knute found himself standing alone in the darkness again. He leaned forward and rested his hands on his knees, breathing in deep, raking gasps.

A dim light cascaded from the ceiling, Knute tried to find the source, but the light originated from nowhere. Knute looked down and met the glassy, dead eyes of General Hendrik Aegon. A scream welled up in Knute's throat. Foam dribbled from the corner of Hendrik's mouth and his bloodshot eyes bulged from their sockets as his face slowly turned black.

Knute's knees gave out beneath him. His shaking hands rose to his face and he felt a stinging pain around his eyes.

"I didn't," moaned Knute. "I didn't kill you. I was just there. Tell the Houses. I didn't kill you."

He lifted his head from his fingers and stared at the corpse. Death seemed to shrink Hendrik's body.

"Stop it," said Knute. "Stop it. It's a lie. A lie!"

Knute threw everything he had at the corpse. All his talent—all his power—everything—just get it away from him.

And then, the corpse was gone.

Knute was alone again. The darkness no longer frightened him; even the darkness was better than anything the Chamber had to show him.

Dietrich had warned him that the Chamber would do this. Try to terrify him in order to bring out his power.

Deep breaths. Calm. That was the key. Knute could get through this. He just had to remember that it wasn't real.

He wiped away the tears with the back of his hand. He climbed to his feet. His legs were shaking a little, but for the most part, they held firm. Knute took a deep breath. His three minutes in the Chamber had to be over soon.

The moment the thought passed through Knute's mind, ropes shot through the darkness and wrapped themselves around his wrists and ankles. The ropes scratched against his skin and the more Knute tried to yank his arms away, the tighter the ropes clung.

"It's not real!" cried Knute.

But no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that the ropes weren't real, he could feel the burn of the woven material against his skin.

"What is this?" asked Knute.

"You left us."

The soft-spoken voice of his sister pierced through Knute's skull. He tried to move towards, but the ropes held and he could only see a sliver of her white face through the darkness.

"Gull?" cried Knute. "Where are you? Why are you here?"

"I can't afford to go to school anymore."

The hollow, sunken face of Lisabet appeared beside Gull.

"We needed money," Lisabet whispered. "So I had to join Gull in the red light district."

"The red light district," hissed Gull.

"I'm…" Knute groped for some words of comfort.

"Where is he?" The shrill voice of his mother came next. She ran into the light, a pale sheen of sweat on her forehead and her cheeks pallid with sickness. "Where my baby boy? He didn't come home! Is he at Collum's house?"

Knute shook his head. His chest felt as though it was being ripped in two—one half wanted to cry out his mother's name, to tell her some lie that would bring the color back to her face, but the other half, the darker half, wanted to turn away and pray to the Ancestor that she wouldn't notice him. Let him slip away in the shadows and never be seen.

"He's betrayed us all," said Konrad.

Knute kept his head down and tried not to look at his father.

"No!" cried Gudrun. "No! He would never!"

Konrad turned to stare at his son. Knute felt a shiver run down his spine under the fierce gaze of his father.

"He left us," said Konrad.

"The red light district," said Lisabet.

"No," moaned Gudrun.

"I don't want to end this way," said Gull.

"Stop it!" screamed Knute. "What do you know?"

And with his words, he threw his soul outward. Not in any focused direction—there was no single target—just out. Anything. He just wanted to get away from their accusing eyes that pinned him down and made him responsible for all his family's troubles. His excess soul collided with the walls and ceiling and floor of the Chamber. All at once, the ropes disappeared and his family vanished with high-pitched screams and Knute was plunged into darkness once again.

A crack of light appeared. At first, it was only a thin, vertical line of light; Knute thought the Chamber was about to attack him again. He grasped at the back of his mind for more power, but there was nothing left.

The crack grew wider until it expanded into a rectangle.

Knute blinked at the blinding light and slowly understanding dawned on him. It was the door, the exit.

He stumbled across the stone floor, hands stretched out in front of him. Closer. Closer. Closer. And then free.

Knute stepped out into the light and took a deep, trembling breath. He stood in the hallway, shaking and sweating. The door to the Tasking Chamber slammed shut behind him. The harsh sound making Knute cringe.

Dietrich, arms folded, was staring at the wall behind Knute.

Slowly, Knute turned. He saw the red sand in the hourglass pouring from the top half into the bottom. The sand piled up, sliding into the corners, filling the bottom glass. Past the 1.00 mark. Past the 1.50 mark. Past the 2.00 mark. Past the 2.50 mark. The sand stopped. Knute squinted, trying to measure the line.

"Knute Vidar," said Dietrich.

"What?" Knute spun around.

"You have survived the Chamber and it has judged you. You're Tasking Number has been measured at 2.73."

"Is that good?"

Dietrich's mouth curled up into a half-smile. "The correct response is 'As the Ancestor grants it.'"

"As the Ancestor grants it," said Knute. "What does it mean? What's your Number?"

"The Tasking Ceremony of Knute Vidar has now come to a close." Dietrich sighed and then turned to Knute. "You have no respect for formal tradition, do you?"

"I was raised in the slums," said Knute. "The most tradition I've been introduced to is that they gave me a name when I was born."

"Classy." Dietrich glanced over Knute's shoulder at the hourglass.

Knute followed Dietrich's eyes and watched as the red sand drifted back up to the top half of the hourglass, pouring in the reverse direction until the bottom half was empty again.

"My Number is 2.70," said Dietrich. "I am tied as the eighth strongest living chimera with Robert Cadmus." He paused. "Ninth strongest now, I suppose."

"I am stronger than you?" asked Knute.

Dietrich glanced at Knute and then smirked. "Technically yes. But I have been trained since birth to be perfect. I could run you through with a sword right now. Or I could use any number of guns to shoot you in the head. Or I could wait until you least expect it and slip poison in your drink. Or I could just hire one of the Aegon's errand boys to kill you on my behalf. I know many ways to make you die. Pick one."

Knute swallowed. "Is there an alternative?"

A smile flashed across Dietrich's face. "There's always an alternative. You have entered the world of the Houses now, and you should always find that alternative." The smile faded as soon as it came and Dietrich uncrossed his arms. He gave the sleek, black door of the Chamber one last glance before walking down the hallway towards the elevator. "Come. I want to get some sleep tonight."

Knute glanced back over his shoulder before hurrying after Dietrich.

* * *

**Six**

Allison didn't dare look directly at Thom. Her heart was beating heavily in her chest, the dull thumping filled her ears and head. If Thom had said anything to her in the last five minutes, she hadn't heard it. She sat at the bottom of the slide, her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms holding the bottom of her sundress around her legs to conceal her underwear. She stared at the chipped mulch as though it was the most fascinating thing she had ever seen.

Someone had fixed the light bulb. The lamppost was brighter now; the white glow illuminating the whole playground, not just the swing set.

"Allison," said Thom, stifling a yawn. "It's almost midnight. I have an eight o'clock class tomorrow morning."

"Sorry." Allison kicked a piece of mulch with the four-inch heel of her white shoe. "I couldn't get away before now."

She hadn't even had time to change her shoes. The second she'd managed to escape the clutches of Sarah Cadmus, her future mother-in-law, Allison had bolted up to her room, taken off her ball gown and thrown on a light sundress.

"This couldn't wait until tomorrow?" asked Thom.

"It'll be tomorrow in a few minutes."

"I meant like afternoon tomorrow."

"No," said Allison. "If I don't tell you now, I don't think I'll ever be able to."

Thom frowned, his attention suddenly sharpening. He crouched next to her and rested his warm hand on top of her left knee. "Allison, honey, what is it? What's bothering you?"

Allison pursed her lips. "How was your day, Thom?"

Thom's eyebrows shot up. "It was fine. I did homework mostly. My uncle wasn't joking when he said law school was difficult."

"You'll be a great lawyer though. Shion needs more lawyers like you."

Thom nodded, though he wasn't really listening. "You remember how I told you about that one teacher? Professor Arntsen. She told us at the beginning of the year that she will drop us a grade if we come into class unprepared. Well, this one guy, he's a brilliant student—he raises his hand in class all the time—she called on him today and he didn't know the answer—even though it was in the homework. I swear, the guy just about had a mental breakdown in class."

"That's awful," said Allison softly.

They sat in silence for a moment. Allison could feel Thom's hazel eyes begging her to look up, but she kept her eyes firmly fixed on the ground.

"The last time we were here," said Thom. "You burned, um, the grass."

"It wasn't me."

"I know," said Thom. "She looked like you and she had your voice. But she wasn't _you_. She didn't act like you. And you would never, uh, harm a guy like that."

"I don't understand." Allison rested her head in her hands. "What's happening to me?"

"Maybe you have a split personality," said Thom. "My friend majoring in psychology was telling me about people like that. It comes from stressful situations. I mean, your parents did die when you were very young."

The memory of unseen flames rippled through Allison's mind. She was six-years-old and trying to claw her way out of a smoking, burning house

"Stop it," said Allison. "Please, stop."

"I'm sorry," said Thom. "I'm just, I'm worried about you."

"I know." Allison lifted her head and leaned forward to give him a quick peck on the lips. "You're always worrying about me."

"It's like you enjoy making me worry." Thom's smile faded and he glanced around the playground. "You should let me bring you home. It's not safe for a woman to walk home by herself."

"It's fine." Allison managed a weak smile. "I'm the strongest chimera alive—I can protect myself"

"That doesn't make me feel any better."

All of a sudden, Allison was crying. Hot, salty tears brimmed at the edges of her eyes and spilled over her cheeks.

"What's wrong?" asked Thom. "Honey, what's wrong?"

"Stop it," said Allison. "Stop being nice to me. You make it harder and harder. Stop being so damn nice."

"Making what harder? Allison—what's _wrong_?"

Allison took a deep breath, trying to gather her strength. "I am engaged to Michael Cadmus, the heir of the Cadmus House. It was announced tonight. Because of my engagement, I can no longer continue this relationship with you. Thank you for spending time with me. I wish you luck with your career in law. You'll make a great lawyer one day." She stopped speaking. There were no more words to say.

Thom knelt there in stunned silence, his hand still clutching her knee. She could feel his fingertips digging into her skin. He looked so lost, so confused.

"Allison?" Thom's voice croaked.

"Sorry." Allison managed to hold the tears back this time. "It's been fun."

"Allison?"

"Don't do this, Thom." There was a stinging pain in the back of Allison's throat and it took all her willpower to keep it caged down there. She couldn't cry anymore. That would just make it harder. "We always knew this day would come."

"Did we?" Thom's lower lip trembled as he spoke. "Did we know? 'Cause I certainly didn't!"

"I'm Allison Tveit of the Cadmus, and you are Thom Anderson of the People. We were never going to last." No matter how many times she tried to swallow it away, the pain remained lodged in her throat.

"Don't say such things."

Thom reached out to catch hold of Allison's hands, but she pulled away.

"Stop it," said Allison. "You're embarrassing me."

"Allison?" asked Thom. "What's wrong with you? This isn't you. The Allison I know would never say such things." Thom's eyes widened. "This isn't you. It's the other _you_. Dani. Dani, stop it. This isn't funny. Let me talk to Allison. Dani, how can you be so cruel."

Allison stared at him. "Dani?"

"Dani who burned the man alive," said Thom. "The Dani inside of you."

Allison's heart stopped. She pushed Thom away, causing him to fall backward onto the mulch. Allison leapt to her feet, her pink dress swaying around her knees.

"Dani? She called herself Dani?"

"Yeah." Thom was crying now. "Honey? Who is she?"

Allison was too mortified to speak. She'd lost control of her body twice. She'd still be able to see and hear, but she'd had no control—it was as if someone else was moving her arms and legs. Someone else had reacted inside the Tasking Chamber and someone else had killed the Nameless who attacked them. Allison didn't remember hearing a name, but as Thom said the name, the words appeared in Allison's mind. _My name is Dani. The name of this body is Dani. Not Allison. Never Allison. If you call me by that parasite's name again, I will burn you where you stand._

"Allison!" Thom reached out to her, but Allison pulled away again.

"Danielle Tveit," said Allison softly. "Danielle Tveit was my twin sister. She was stillborn."

* * *

**So... what do you think of Head Louisa's decision? What did you think of Dietrich's history lesson? What did you think of Knute's Tasking Ceremony? What do you think of the revelation that Allison had a stillborn twin sister? What were your favorite parts of hte chapter? Were there any parts that didn't make sense? Any parts that were slow? Any parts that were awkward?**

**Please review and tell me what you thought so I can work to improve! Thank you!**


	6. The Second

**6. The Second**

**37 Day of Spring, 1288**

* * *

**One**

Sabine Leandre tried not to look at the body. She had started working in the police department at age twenty-three, and since then Sabine had seen many dead bodies—but that didn't mean she got used to them. The worst were the people she knew.

Alissa Evjen was a minor member of the Leandre House. She was also Sabine's aunt.

Sabine stared at the dried streaks of blood that originated from Alissa's throat and made their way down the stairs to the landing. Alissa lay along the step, her head lower than the rest of her body and her waxy, purple face looked towards the ceiling. She looked broken.

Phillip Cadmus had been the one to find her. Apparently, he was the only person who works on the ninth floor who used the stairs—Sabine couldn't imagine why. Calmly and collectedly, Phillip had called the police. He'd explained that he was looking at his assistant, Alissa Evjen's body and they should send someone over. In response, the police force had sent Dietrich Aegon, the Cadmus had sent Peter Oswalk, and the Leandre had sent Sabine.

They were an impressive trio, Sabine had to admit. Dietrich was the Aegon's golden boy with a 2.70 Tasking Number, Peter was the fourth strongest chimera alive, and, of course, Sabine was the possessor of the Warrior's Seat. A twisted smile toyed at Sabine's lips and she had to fight to keep it down. In her death, Alissa Evjen was looked after by the best. What a shame that didn't happen in life.

"My favorite thing in the early morning—dead bodies."

Peter Oswalk, also known as Louisa Cadmus's savage dog, was standing a few steps above Alissa's body. His arms were folded across his chest and there was a slight smirk to his lips. With sharp, blue eyes, short, brown hair, a muscular body, and a taste for leather-jackets, Peter would have been one of the most attractive men in Shion—if only he weren't so damn short.

"Your sarcasm is not appreciated," said Sabine.

"Oh, I forgot," said Peter. "She's your aunt."

Sabine nodded curtly.

"Were you close?"

"No."

"Shame," said Peter. "I heard you and your uncle were close."

He spoke not to Sabine but the redhead man standing on the landing above a small puddle of Alissa's dried blood. Dietrich Aegon's black eyes snapped up and a scowl settled on his face.

"We were," said Dietrich. "Is it any of your business?"

"The Aegon sent you to investigate your favorite uncle's murder?" Peter shook his head. "That's pretty harsh."

Dietrich didn't respond.

Peter raised his eyebrows, but said nothing more to Dietrich. Instead, he glanced down at the corpse. "So, Alissa worked late last night—something she doesn't usually do."

"Do you have to think aloud?" asked Sabine.

Peter shrugged. "I was sharing my intelligence with you two. But if you don't want to listen, I can whisper. Has anyone else here interviewed Phillip Cadmus?"

"I'm about to," said Sabine.

"I'll save you the trouble," said Peter. "Alissa stayed late to work on the Jen Brakken court case tomorrow—ridiculous case, Sabine, really what was the Leandre thinking, letting that case be presented to Phillip Cadmus, it's a waste of his time—but according to Phillip, Alissa usually doesn't stay past six. Phillip Cadmus, though, usually stays until nine. Last night, however, he had the Cadmus dinner celebration to attend. Video cameras by the elevator show Alissa leaving at nine-thirty. The elevators had been switched off for maintenance check that night, so Alissa had to take the stairs. Fun fact—Phillip Cadmus always takes the stairs because, according to him, stair climbing burns more calories per minute than jogging."

"Youre not even pretending to be subtle," said Dietrich. "You think the killer targeting Phillip Cadmus."

"I don't think," said Peter. "I know."

"Confident, aren't we?" sneered Sabine.

"Well, when you're just this good…" Peter gave an exaggerated shrug.

"What if they actually meant to murder Alissa?" asked Sabine.

"Over what? Jen Brakken's court case?" Peter laughed. "What purpose would it serve to murder Alissa Evjen, a Nameless House chimera?"

"She's strong," said Sabine.

"But not strong enough to compete for the Warrior's Seat," said Peter.

"Why didn't she just break the attacker's skull?" asked Dietrich.

Dietrich's words brought Sabine to a halt before she could snap a retort to Peter and defend her aunt. The meaning behind what Dietrich had just said slowly registered with Sabine. She stared down the stairwell at the quiet figure of Dietrich. Paying little attention to the conversation between Peter and Sabine, Dietrich was surveying the crime scene thoughtfully.

"What do you mean?" asked Sabine.

Dietrich tore his eyes away from Alissa's waxen face. "Alissa Evjen has a Tasking Number of 2.48 and her ability is to break objects through contact with her skin. According to forensics, the attacker held her from behind and sliced her throat with a clip point knife. So, at some point during the struggle, Alissa Evjen was in contact with her attacker. Why didn't Alissa break every bone in his body?"

Sabine frowned.

"If the attacker has a strong talent," said Peter. "His ability can overcome hers."

"Well," said Sabine. "That would narrow down our list of subjects. How many chimeras do we know it a Tasking Number over 2.48?"

"What if the attacker doesn't have a Tasking Number?" asked Dietrich.

Sabine stared at Dietrich. He had turned away from her, his coal-black eyes raked over the crime scene as if looking for something. Sabine remembered what Marcel had told her about the Aegon's golden boy. He and his uncle, Hendrik, had the same ability to see the colors of souls and the paths they left behind. Sabine couldn't even begin to imagine what those eyes, so dark that the iris and the pupil were indistinguishable from one another, could see.

"The culprit's path isn't here."

Peter scowled. "What?"

"All the soul paths are accounted for—You two, me, Phillip Cadmus, Alissa Evjen, two police officers, the three crime scene investigators—and no other." Dietrich closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them. His gaze had come back into focus. "Whoever murdered Alissa Evjen knew that I would investigate the crime scene and ensured that I wouldn't find any traces of his or her soul path. The colors show no trace of anyone being here at the time of Alissa's murder besides Alissa herself."

"You're saying she murdered herself?" Peter scoffed. "She stashed the murder weapon from beyond the grave?"

"Don't be stupid." Dietrich shot Peter a look of distaste. "I'm saying that someone's talent stops excess soul from spilling over the edges of the bucket."

Before Sabine could even process what Dietrich had just said, he stepped around Alissa's body and started climbing the stairs. He murmured something that sounded like a goodbye before exiting through the metal door marked with the black number nine. The door closed with a heavy thud behind him, leaving Sabine and Peter staring after him.

Peter snorted. "I hate it when he does that."

"You've worked with him before?" asked Sabine.

"The Cadmus likes to know what's going on as much as the Aegon does," said Peter. "Dietrich and I usually visit crime scenes at the same time. I throw out my theory. Dietrich nods, does his little eye trick, and then throws one of those on me." Peter gestured to where Dietrich had been standing earlier. "And then he leaves. In style. Did you not see his swagger as he left? It's fucking annoying."

A smile twitched at the corners of Sabine's mouth. "The Leandre prefers not to get involved in the police's business. I've worked on the same case as him maybe twice in my life. I usually arrive just as he leaves." She paused and then added thoughtfully, "He really does have this swagger when he leaves."

"It's all in the hips."

Sabine laughed. Then, she caught sight of her aunt's warped face and felt the mirth die in her throat. She stared at the gaping wound in Alissa's throat, trying to keep down the rising bile. Tearing her eyes away, Sabine said, "Dietrich Aegon knows something that he's not telling us."

"He always does," said Peter. "And I bet it has something to do with the death of Hendrik Aegon."

Sabine climbed a couple steps and then stopped. "Hendrik Aegon, the possessor of the General's Seat murdered. And now my aunt, who happened to be leaving at the same time as Phillip Aegon, the possessor of the Judge's Seat, and taking the stairs that he always takes." Sabine shook her head. "Someone is trying to kill off the possessors of the Seats."

Peter glanced over Sabine and cocked his head to the side. "I'd be careful if I were you, Warrior."

* * *

**Two**

Nathaniel Cadmus stared into the depths of his hot chocolate. For once, the chocolate wasn't making him feel any better. He leaned back on the stool, holding onto the island counter to keep himself upright.

It was almost noon, and he was hiding in the kitchen. His father had found him in the early morning and laid on the lecture. Where had he gone wrong? It was those college applications. How could Nathaniel have given up the title of heir so easily? Robert's barrage of questions and accusations had caused Nathaniel to flee to the kitchen.

He hadn't slept at all last night—or if he had, he didn't remember it.

The haunting question of "what am I going to do now?" had rolled around Nathaniel's mind all night. Head Louisa had said that Gerard Cadmus, the manager of the Cadmus finances, needed an assistant, and since Nathaniel had planned to major in mathematics at the College of Shion, that would be a suitable position for him. No matter how much Nathaniel had tried to explain to the Head that mathematics and accounting were not necessarily the same thing, the Head refused to listen and she had decided to set Nathaniel to work in the next few days. Nathaniel had tossed and turned in his bed all night, burying his face in the pillow, shifting the angle of his neck, moving from this side to that, and asking what he was going to do next. He tried to find a way to sleep and, if he was lucky, an answer to his question, but both desires remained unfulfilled.

Nathaniel sighed and leaned forward until his forehead was resting on the cool, marble countertop.

"You look like the living dead."

Allison Tveit stood in the kitchen doorway. She didn't enter, but remained in the threshold, leaning against the wooden frame and clutching the doorknob with her thin hands.

"Rough night." Nathaniel lifted his head from the countertop. "You don't look so hot either."

"I saw Thom last night."

"Ah." Nathaniel raised his steaming mug into the air and toasted her. "You're a stronger person than I."

"Parents bothering you?"

"As always."

Allison slipped into the kitchen. Her steps had a nervous scuttle to them as she moved to the cupboard to grab a packet of instant cocoa powder. She flipped on the switch for the kettle and proceeded to make herself a cup of hot chocolate.

Nathaniel hesitated. He took a sip of his own steaming drink to stall for time. Then, mustering his strength, he said, "Congratulations on your engagement."

"Don't joke with me." Allison folded her arms across her chest and frowned. "You know, I always thought I would marry you. We'd get married in the Summer Season, we'd spent our nights drinking hot chocolate, we'd have beautiful blond children, and we would be happy. I could imagine it, you know—you and I being happy."

"You and Michael can have beautiful blond children too," muttered Nathaniel.

"But I never really pictured you as the Head," continued Allison as if she hadn't heard him speak. "I could imagine us married, but not you as the Head of the Cadmus."

"Thanks."

"Don't look at me like that," said Allison.

Nathaniel wrapped his hands around the mug. "Like what?"

"You know what I mean," said Allison. "And you know I'm telling the truth. You would hate to be the Head of the Cadmus. You don't have the stubbornness that's sometimes required, or the ruthlessness, or the resolve. You don't even like the Houses."

Something lurched painfully inside Nathaniel's stomach. He scrunched up his nose in distaste. "What are you talking about? I live for the Cadmus."

"Of course," said Allison softly. "Always for the sake of the Cadmus."

Nathaniel took another sip of his hot chocolate. It was cooling down; somehow, the same taste was less enjoyable at a lukewarm temperature. He debated heating the mug up in the microwave, but decided against it as he watched Allison pour the boiling water into her own cup.

Allison set the kettle down and lifted the cup to her nose. She breathed in the aroma of chocolate and sighed. "I love this stuff."

"Yeah."

Allison stopped for a second and stared at Nathaniel. It set him on edge. Her blue eyes were filled with a mess of emotions—rage, anxiety, and raw fear. The more he looked at her, the more he realized that something was wrong. Deep shadows curled under her eyes, clinging to her cheeks. If he looked like the living dead, then he hated to think what she looked like.

"What happened?" asked Nathaniel.

"Nothing. No. Yes." Allison shook her head and took a deep, trembling breath. "I told you. I told everyone, but no one believed me."

"Told them what?"

"That I'm not a chimera."

Nathaniel frowned. His mug clicked against the marble counter top as he set it down. "Allison, you were given a Tasking Number of 3.33—how can you not be a chimera?"

"In the Tasking Chamber…" Allison wrung her hands out, staring at them with a twisted frown on her face. "I couldn't do anything to get rid of the snakes. They were going to kill me, but I couldn't stop them. I tried. I tried just the way you told me. I reached back to find the well of power, but there was nothing there. No talent. No power. Nothing. There was no talent. Until something stirred—someone stirred in the back of my soul. And that someone scored the 3.33 Tasking Number. That someone set fire to the Tasking Chamber. And that someone killed the errand boy in the park outside Thom's apartment. I could see what my body was doing, but I couldn't control it. Someone else did those things, Nathaniel. Not me."

"Allison?" Nathaniel tried to keep his voice from shaking. "What are you talkingabout?"

"There's someone else inside of me," hissed Allison. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen, like she was on the verge of crying.

"Who?"

"She told Thom her name." Allison was pacing up and down the kitchen, back and forth past Nathaniel. "Dani. She called herself Dani."

"Dani," murmured Nathaniel.

"It's short for Danielle."

Nathaniel frowned. It was a name he'd heard a long time ago—a name from his childhood, a name that he had heard in the conversations of adults and had never fully committed to memory.

"Allison?" asked Nathaniel. "Who is Danielle?"

She didn't respond. All the terror drained from her face; her expression grew lighter, her body relaxed, and her shoulders eased back into a casual position. She stopped pacing and turned to smile at Nathaniel. Whatever worry had haunted her seconds before vanished in an instant.

"I went to a teashop today," said Allison. "Danielle was this cashier who told me I looked exactly like her lesbian best friend. It was weird." She let out a bark of laughter.

"Right," said Nathaniel slowly. "Right. Allison. What are you talkingabout?"

Allison lifted up the mug of hot chocolate and stared at it for a minute. She pulled a face. She marched across the kitchen and dumped the entire contents of the mug into the sink.

"What are you doing?" Nathaniel leapt to his feet. Wasting hot chocolate was considered sacrilegious between the two of them.

"I've got places to be, things to do—I don't have time for hot chocolate."

Allison shot Nathaniel a wry smile before striding—there was no way to describe it besides striding—across the kitchen. She gave him a quick wave before slamming the door closed.

Nathaniel sat at the kitchen counter, staring after her with his mouth half open.

* * *

**Three**

Dietrich's coffee craving had gotten the better of him and now he stood in line at a local teashop, trying to ignore the whispers that trailed after him and the curious eyes that bored into the back of his head. Magda liked to call it the curse of the redheads. No one in Shion had red hair like Emilie Mathilde-Aegon and her children, which meant Dietrich was recognized nearly everywhere he went—even when all he wanted was a fucking cup of coffee.

"Black," said Dietrich through gritted teeth. "I just want a cup of black coffee."

The barista nodded mutely and started tapping on the register. She mumbled the price and Dietrich dropped the money onto the counter.

"Keep the change."

Dietrich moved to the side to wait for his drink. He folded his arms over his chest and watched the barista pour his plain, black coffee into a cup. The second his coffee was finished, Dietrich took the cup and made a beeline for the exit.

Even though it was nearing mid-spring, the weather hadn't warmed up yet. The lake brought a chilly wind over Shion, and Dietrich still needed a light jacket. Some of the people walking down the sidewalk had on shorts and t-shirts—Dietrich admired their bravery. He wouldn't take on the spring cold in sandals.

It was late afternoon, just past the end of lunch hour, so the business people had returned to their offices, leaving the sidewalks of the central district clear. Dietrich headed for his car, careful that his coffee did not spill as he walked. Buildings of the central district were, Dietrich had to admit, stunning. They were a combination of contemporary architecture, all straight lines and angles, and historic stone buildings, spires and arches. The heights varied as well. Sixty stories such as a hotel, the central bank, the police headquarters, sat beside buildings that were only four stories, such as a church, a restaurant, or a department store. The central district was a pleasant mixture of styles that, when the sun hit it at the right angle, looked like garden of golden pillars.

The police headquarters, on the south side of the central district, was arguably Shion's finest piece of architecture. It was made entirely of blue glass with a dome roof coated in silver that was supposed to remind onlookers of the moon (Dietrich was a little skeptical).

After investigating the murder of Alissa Evjen with the oh-so-charming Peter Oswalk and the lovely Lady Sabine Leandre, Dietrich had stopped by his late uncle's office in the police headquarters to look through some old files—anything that might concern the group of Nameless that murdered Hendrik Aegon. Unfortunately, if Hendrik knew anything about the group before he died, he didn't keep it on computer records. Dietrich was trapped in place. Someone was trying to kill the possessors of the Seats. Someone probably from a group of Nameless rebelling against the Houses. Someone who had the ability to control soul paths.

Dietrich sidestepped a businesswoman who was too busy yelling into her cellphone to notice him. The woman bumped into Dietrich's shoulder, causing him to splatter hot coffee on his wrist.

It was then, in that moment of searing pain, that Dietrich saw the flash of silver-white.

Trying to shake the coffee from his arm, Dietrich looked about, trying to see the silver-white soul again. His excess soul wasn't leaking through his restraints. He couldn't see any other colors. Perhaps he'd only imagined it. But when Dietrich used the back of his jacket sleeve to wipe away the spilt coffee, he saw the brilliant silver-white light once more.

"By the ever-loving Ancestor," muttered Dietrich.

It took the combined effort of curiosity and impulse for Dietrich to reach back and draw upon the pool of power that lay in wait. The colors flooded into his vision, unrestrained and wild. Yellow, red, orange, dark blue, light blue, gold-yellow, scarlet, violet—the paths of all the businesspersons who had walked down the main street of the central district in the past couple days flooded Dietrich's vision. He instinctively tried to blink the scalding colors away, but it hardly mattered. Everything paled in comparison to the blinding silver-white path.

The path made a steady line down the sidewalk. Dietrich rubbed his left eye and blinked. The longer he stared, he realized that the silver path was not alone. Intertwined with the silver-white soul was another. Thin and dripping, barely existent, a pale yellow line was woven into the prodigious, white path.

Dietrich hadn't seen anything like it before. He'd seen two souls walk side by side, the color bordering one another, but no touching. He'd seen two souls merge from sex. He'd seen the soul of an eight-month fetus nestled in the soul of its mother. But never before had Dietrich seen two souls knitted together in this way. Never.

He followed the path unfalteringly. Down the sidewalk, left on that street, right on that street, another block. With each step, the soul path became fresher and brighter. More silver. More white. Was that even possible? All other colors blurred and dulled out of existence. He followed, raising the already brisk pace, until he turned a street corner and there, haloed in silver-white, was a woman.

She stood with her back to Dietrich, beneath the sign of a dogged sports bar. She in the middle of a heated discussion with a man, his thin soul clung to his shoulder like the green of aging vines.

Dietrich grabbed the woman roughly by the shoulder and spun her around.

"Who are you?" he asked.

She had blue eyes. And white-blonde hair. A small face with sweet features—though her expression was pinched and irritated. She was petite and wore a simple black shirt and denim jeans that clung to her hips. She looked—normal. A normal woman surrounded by a fiery, silver aureole.

"Who are you?" said Dietrich.

"Who are you?" she snapped, slapping his hand away.

"Don't interrupt." The man, the one with the meager, green soul, pushed his way between Dietrich and the woman, giving Dietrich a triumphant smirk. "We were having a conversation."

"Not anymore." Dietrich grabbed the woman's wrist and pulled her away from the bar and the man.

"Let me go."

Where his left hand touched the woman's wrist, Dietrich felt a flash of scalding heat. He quickly released her and rubbed his hand against the side of his pants.

"Was that necessary?" asked Dietrich

"Hey!" The man was following. "If she doesn't want to go, then she doesn't have to."

The woman turned her sharp eyes on him and snapped, "Shut up. Leave me alone."

"What?" The man took a step.

Dietrich felt a wave of heat ripple through the air. The man let out a shriek and tried to bat away the unseen flames. The woman watched him scurry back to the sports bar, her blue eyes impassive.

"What do you want?" she asked, finally turning to Dietrich.

"Are you Allison Tveit?"

She scowled. "Why do you call me that?"

He was surprised by the breathlessness of his own voice. "Only someone with a soul as blinding as yours could be a 3.33 Tasking Number."

She smirked and lifted her chin. "I am the 3.33 but I am not Allison Tveit."

Understanding flashed through Dietrich as he stared at the thin, yellow soul that was knitted together with the silver one. "Why are there two souls in one body?"

Her eyes widened a fraction. "Who are you?"

"There are two of you," said Dietrich. "Inside one body?"

Her lips moved soundlessly, searching for words. Then, the shock faded and her stubborn pride returned. She lifted her chin and said, "Tell me your name and I'll tell you mine."

"Dietrich Aegon."

She showed no signs of surprise. "I'm Dani."

"And the second you?"

"I won't tell you while standing on a street corner."

She jerked her head and Dietrich looked over her shoulder. A few men and women standing outside the bar, colors bumping into one another, were watching Dietrich and Dani's exchange with curiosity. When they saw Dietrich looking, they quickly busied themselves with conversations and flirtations.

"I see what you mean." Dietrich closed off the flow his excess soul and blinked as the colors ebbed away. The brightness of Dani's soul faded but didn't disappear entirely. She still had an unnerving silver glow about her that caught Dietrich off-guard.

"You're ridiculous," he mutter.

"What?"

"Do you have a place we may talk in private?" asked Dietrich.

Dani laughed aloud—a full and unrestrained sound that caught Dietrich off-guard. She grinned at him. "No."

Dietrich considered. "We can go to my house." The suggestion sounded unusual even to him, and he tried to clarify. "There is nowhere more private than a house."

Dani's eyes raked over him, scrutinizing him carefully. "Fine. But I warn you now. If you do anything suspicious—I will set you on fire and watch as you burn into an unidentifiable pile of ash."

A slow, sly smile slid onto Dietrich's face. "Oh, I have no doubt."

* * *

**Four**

Raoul Leandre was finishing off his second bottle of beer when he heard that Dietrich Aegon was having an argument with a blonde woman outside the bar. The fact that the Dietrich Aegon had lowered himself to come to a sports bar to talk to a woman sparked Raoul's curiosity. He dropped some money for the bartender and made for the exit, pushing his way through the crowd of eager onlookers and pissing off a few people in the process. Raoul reached the exit and stepped out onto the street—only to find that Dietrich Aegon and the blond woman had already left.

"I was talking to her!"

The frustrated whine came from a broad-shouldered man with a mop of brown hair. He was surrounded by several of his assumed-to-be friends and his rage seemed to be infecting all of them.

"Dietrich Aegon has always been cocky," said one man.

"Thinks he and his chimeras are too good for us," barked another.

"She wasn't worth the fight," muttered a tall, bony man with graying hair.

"Who?" asked Raoul, pushing his way into the group.

The men gave him skeptical glares, but the ringleader, the one who Dietrich had interrupted, said, "I was talking to this pretty girl when Dietrich Aegon pulls her away and starts asking her who she was."

"Who are you—he'd say," said a man with a short graying beard. "Who are you—she'd say. Back and forth. Back and forth. And there were two of her of something." The bearded man threw his hands in the air. "Those chimeras speak in riddles."

"It's 'cause they're too good for us," sneered the ringleader.

"Who was she?" asked Raoul.

"Not you too," groaned the bearded man.

"Raoul? Raoul Leandre?"

A high-pitched, feminine voice cut through the group of testosterone like a knife. The men turned around to see a skinny prostitute (she could be nothing else) in a short, green dress standing on the sidewalk. Her calf-brown eyes were wide as she stared at Raoul—one would have thought she'd seen a dead man come back to life.

At first, the group of men didn't know to whom the prostitute was talking. Then, they turned and saw Raoul. Realization struck them and they quickly backed away.

"Sorry, sir. We didn't know. We respect the Houses greatly. They keep us safe and sound at night."

Raoul ignored them and stepped away from the group. The prostitute couldn't have been older than twenty—possibly younger. She wasn't exactly pretty, but her make-up and outfit could make any man forget that. She was skeleton-thin. Raoul could have easily wrapped his hand around her upper arm so that his thumb and fingers touched.

"You know me?" asked Raoul.

"I've seen you," said the prostitute softly. "Once or twice. You're pretty famous amongst the girls." She paused and then giggled. "Some of them dream that you'll marry them and save them from poverty." She blushed, realizing she had said that aloud.

"If only I could marry every prostitute in Shion," said Raoul. "I might make many a few enemies, but I would be a very happy man."

She laughed, the redness in her face fading a little.

"So you know my name," said Raoul. "Do I get yours?"

"Gull," she said. "Gull Vidar."

"Gull? Isn't that a seabird?" Raoul could feel the stares of a dozen people in his back. Many of the bar's customers had probably never seen one of the House chimeras up close before. At least not so close. He tried to ignore the stares, keeping an easy smile for Gull.

"A seagull," she said. "My mother's choice in name—not mine, believe me."

"Well," said Raoul. "My mother chose my name too. But let's be honest here—who would not love the name Raoul? If I have a son, I'm naming him Raoul Leandre II—because it's such a freaking awesome name."

Gull tried to suppress her giggle behind her hand, but she soon gave up and laughed openly.

"Girls look prettier when they smile," said Raoul. "My cousin—actually she's like my second or third cousin, she might be removed or not, I don't know—but she has the most miserable love life. So I spend my time making her laugh. Because, you know, as a bodyguard I must protect not only the body, but also the soul." Raoul stuck his tongue out. "May the Ancestor judge me for all the cheesy and cliché lines I've used in my life."

"You're nice." Gull's sweet smile faded a little. She opened her mouth to say something, but then quickly closed it.

Raoul nodded encouragingly and waited for her to work up the courage to speak.

It took her several tries before she managed to spew out the words. "Can you help me find my brother?"

"What?"

In the back of his mind, Raoul remembered the audience outside the sports bar. He smiled at Gull and linked his arm with hers. "Walk with me."

Gull seemed shocked by the fact that Raoul was touching her arm and it took her a minute to remember what she was saying. When she did find the words again, they were a safe distance away from the prying eyes and ears.

"My brother, Knute Vidar, went missing five days ago," she said. "He went out to meet with some friends for a drink after dinner, but he never returned." She stared up at Raoul, a sudden steel in her eyes that hadn't been there before. "Why? Why would Knute leave us?"

"Did you tell this to the police?" Raoul pulled his arm away from hers. "That's their job."

"They don't do anything," said Gull bitterly. "My family is, uh, poor."

Well, Raoul could not deny some of the police's incompetence and unreliability when it came to dealing with the slums. He stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets. "So you are asking me to investigate?"

"Knute is a chimera," said Gull. "A strong one."

"Is he?" That caught Raoul's attention. There weren't many strong Nameless chimeras over twenty who went unnoticed by the Houses. Perhaps since Knute lived in the slums, his existence went overlooked.

"He can move objects without touching them," said Gull. "I've seen it." She bit her lip. "Please, sir. Please, help me. My sister and I—we've been looking for him and he's nowhere to be found. We love him more than life itself. And we need him. If it is just us, it is not enough. We can't afford." She stopped, took a deep breath, and started again. "Please, sir. You're a House chimera—surely you can find him."

"It's not my job," said Raoul.

The flicker of hope in Gull's eyes grew bleak. She looked as though her heart had just been mercilessly ripped in a half. Her bottom lip started to tremble and she stopped walking. Raoul stood beside her. He took his hands out his pockets, but couldn't figure out if he should hug her or just pat her on the shoulder. People passing on the sidewalk kept shooting Raoul and Gull curious glances. Raoul managed a sheepish grin at them before grasping Gull by the wrists.

"I can try," said Raoul. "You must realize how impossible it is to find one person out of millions—but if you tell me everything you can about him and leave me your contact details, I can try to find him."

As Gull stared up at Raoul, her lips curled up into a gleeful smile. "You will."

"I can try."

* * *

**Five**

"Can I get you something to drink?" asked Dietrich Aegon.

Dani stared across Dietrich's little brown and white kitchen. She was seated at the island, her elbows resting on the dark-beige, granite countertop. For a single man living alone, Dietrich had a frighteningly clean house. There were no dishes in the sink, no piles of dirty clothes, no cupboard doors hanging open. From everything Dani had heard, single men were supposed to be messy—but here she was, sitting in Dietrich Aegon's spotless kitchen to prove all stereotypes wrong.

"Can I have coffee?" asked Dani.

Dietrich switched on the coffee maker before sliding onto the stool opposite Dani. "I'm a coffee fan too."

"I've never had coffee before."

Dietrich's eyebrows shot up. "Really?"

She didn't say anything more, but turned her head to peer out the kitchen window. The blinds were partially closed, but through the bottom half of the glass, she could see the tops of carefully trimmed bushes.

"You live on the grounds of the Aegon Mansion," said Dani. "I would hardly call this private."

"It's private, or as close as we can possibly get," said Dietrich. "My father wouldn't let me move out of the Aegon's eye, so I got the second best thing. At least, I don't live inside the Mansion."

"I hate mansions," said Dani.

"Do you?"

Dani's eyes narrowed as she stared at Dietrich. She couldn't tell if he was making fun of her, or just genuinely amused. Either way, it seemed that he'd recovered from his initial shock at the strength of her soul and had sunk back into an eased arrogance that grated Dani the wrong way.

"Do you want to hear my story or not?" asked Dani.

"I brought you to my house so we could talk in certain privacy," said Dietrich. "Obviously, I want to hear your story."

Dani folded her arms over her chest and pursed her lips. "It's a long story."

"We have all night," said Dietrich. "Unless you have somewhere to be?"

Dani let out a bark of laughter. "Me? Never."

"Then, start talking."

On the kitchen counter behind him, the coffeepot bubbled and started spitting dark-brown coffee into the pitcher. Dani watched it for a moment, trying to find a good starting point.

"I was born on the 90 Day of Winter. Five people died."

Through the window behind the kitchen sink, Dani could see the orange sun sinking lower, casting strange shadows through the blinds.

"But obviously, I don't remember my birth. I guess I should begin with the first thing I remember. I think I was three or four at the time. I remember seeing. I saw my hand holding my dad's hand as we walked through the zoo and looked at the pretty animals. Tigers, lions, zebras, giraffes—the wolves were my favorite. But, as I walked through the zoo, I had no control over what my body did. My body was terrified of the wolves, and wanted to spend all day looking at the giraffes. My body acted on its own, spoke on its own, and answered to the name Allison Tveit. That's what I assumed my name was. I assumed it was like that for everyone. They had no control over what their bodies did and they only watched the world like a movie."

The coffee machine beeped to signal that it was done.

Dietrich slid out of his seat and poured two cups of coffee. One he kept black, but to the other he added milk and sugar. He placed the black cup in front of him and handed Dani the sweet, creamy coffee.

"It's easier to drink for the first time with milk and sugar," said Dietrich.

Dani took the cup, but didn't drink.

"When I was five, Allison started school. She attended a public school with other children. When my classmate Josef got in trouble for pulling Allison's hair, the teacher told him to control himself, and I realized that he had a choice. He wasn't like me. In fact, no one was like me. Everyone else controlled their actions. Only I was unable to affect the world around me. Only I was trapped in the prison of my own body."

"So then I realized that there was someone else in my body who was in control—that was Allison Tveit. The sweet little girl who preferred giraffes to wolves, she decided what the body was going to do. Not me. I was some sort of parasite that sat in the back of her mind and watched the world pass by through a lens."

Dani took a deep breath. "Did you know that the soul doesn't sleep? It's the body that requires rest, but the soul is constantly awake, thinking and dreaming. In all those years that I lived at the back of Allison Tveit's mind—I never slept. I was awake every second, thinking, wondering, trying to understand. And in those years of being awake, I became aware of a power within me. It burned like wild fire, bursting to be free. I started to experiment with the fire within me. I learned to aim. I aimed at the only essence I knew I could effect—the other soul in my body. I set fire to the chords that bound Allison Tveit's soul to the body."

Dani traced the rim of her coffee mug with her thin fingers. The steam rose from the coffee and curled around her hand. Dani blew on the steam. The gray mist shuddered and disappeared.

"I almost killed her. She had been lying on the sofa watching one of those boring children's television shows—I never liked them—when I tested out my talent. Suddenly, she broke out in a fever and collapsed. The fire didn't burn the body, but it burned her soul instead. Allison's soul fled from the physical world, trying to avoid the unseen flames, and I found an opening. I found that I could take control of the body in the absence of Allison's soul. I opened my eyes and found myself lying on the couch—not seeing from the perspective of someone lying on a couch—but actually on the couch. I could move."

Her words were filed with a soft, unbelieving excitement. She glanced up and saw Dietrich watching her solemnly over the brim of his coffee mug. He didn't say anything; he only watched.

"For the first time, I had control over a body. A physical body. I could move. I could touch a light switch and bring light into the room—do you know how incredible that feeling is?" Dani stared at Dietrich—living, breathing Dietrich—and then corrected her statement. "Of course you know how it feels, but do you appreciateit? I had watched life from afar for six years and suddenly I was a part of the physical world." Dani laughed, though the sound was breathless and out of place. "I never knew how much life meant to me until I had it."

"As you can imagine, I went wild. I jumped over the couch. I turned the lights on and off. I knocked the books off the shelves. I climbed on the fireplace. I nearly put my foot through the TV so I wouldn't have to watch that stupid children's show anymore." A wide smile stretched across Dani's face. "All those things I'd wanted to do, but I'd never been able to do—I did. I wrecked that living room beyond repair and it was the best moment of my life."

She allowed herself to dwell in that memory. A skinny girl in jeans and pink sweater with her blonde hair done up in pigtails stood in the middle of the living room, amongst the toppled chairs and ruined lampshades, crying and laughing all at once. Her father, hair still wet from his shower, came downstairs to see what all the noise had been.

Dani's stomach clenched and her throat tightened. The sweet memory disappeared and when she lifted her eyes to meet Dietrich's gaze, the edge had returned.

"My father found me," she said. "I'd always thought of him as my father. The man who took my—Allison's—hand whenever we had to cross the street. The man who carried me on his back whenever Allison was tired. The man who lifted me up onto his shoulders when Allison was too short to see. When he came down, my father thought I was Allison. He asked me what I was doing. He wasn't happy—well, I had just destroyed his living room."

"At first, I couldn't talk. I'd never spoken before. I knew the words and I had seen Allison learn, but never before had I needed to speak. The words came out clumsy and slow. It took me a few tries, but I figured it out. I told my father. In my own awkward way, I tried to tell him that I was Allison, but I wasn't Allison. Allison and I were two separate people, but we shared the same body. We had lived the same life, and yet we had not. That man was my father, but he didn't know _me. _I wasn't sure how to express it. The feeling I had towards that man. I'd watched him be a father to Allison—to me. And I tried to tell him who I was, but my words failed me and I could only stare at him in awe."

Dani swallowed. Her mouth was dry as dirt.

"He stared at me too. But he wasn't amazed to discover that he had another daughter. In fact, he knew he had a second daughter. He used my name—my true name—for the first time. Danielle." She spat the name out.

"How did he know me? I didn't understand. My father had known of my existence the whole time? Why didn't he save me?" Dani gritted her teeth. "I didn't have to ask. He answered my unspoken questions. With scalding hatred, he told me the truth. I had soul so strong that, while I was still in the womb, I killed my twin sister and started to kill my mother. My mother had to have a C-section fifteen days before the due date because I was burning her from the inside. The doctor pulled out my dead sister first and my father brought her body into a different room, so that my mother wouldn't be near her dead daughter when she woke up. But the moment the doctor took me from my mother's womb, my soul was unleashed. I came into this world screaming and burning. I set the birthing room alight with unseen fire. I killed a doctor, I killed two nurses, I killed my sister, I killed my own mother, and I wasn't even a minute old."

"After I had spent all my excess soul, my father retrieved me, still filthy and squalling, from the blackened room. He brought me and my dead sister home and set to work. My father and his three closest friends were all Nameless chimera. They were the founders of an underground group of Nameless chimera called Those Who Name Themselves. They started the group after they heard rumors of what the Cadmus had done to David and Cecilie Oswalk all to get their hands on Peter. My father and his friends were determined that the Houses wouldn't get their hands on another powerful chimera."

"I'm sure you know that the soul is tied to the body and the only way to free the soul from physical ties is cremation. My father brought my sister's corpse home from the hospital for that reason. I'm not sure exactly how they did it, but by combining their talents, the four of them took my sister's soul from her corpse and gave it control of my body."

Dani curled her hands into fists to stop them from trembling.

"And from that day, Allison lived in my body. She learned to walk in my body. She learned to talk in my body. She went to school in my body, while I watched helplessly in the back of her mind. I was a prisoner in my own body—and my father let it happen. No. He didn't let it happen. He did it himself. He took my life from me. He told me that I was the sister who should have died. He told me that my soul wasn't human, that I was a monster, that I had killed my mother and my sister. He told me he'd given Allison back the life that I'd taken from her. He told me I deservedto die."

A long silence stretched between Dani and Dietrich. They met one another's gaze, but didn't utter a word as the dark emotions danced on knife-edge between them.

"When I was six-years-old, I took my life back. I burned the cords that bound me and I took control of my body. And when my father found that I had freed myself, he tried to kill me. His talent was to momentarily extract people's souls from their bodies, so he tried to do that to me. He tried to take my soul out of my body, so Allison could have my body all to herself. He tried, but I didn't let him."

Dani stared at the cup of coffee. She curled her fingers around the handle and lifted the cup to her lips. She sipped the lukewarm, bitter drink and felt her nose wrinkle in disgust. She quickly set the coffee back down on the counter.

"You don't like it?" asked Dietrich.

Dani blinked. She had forgotten about him. "It tastes burnt."

"Some people like the bitter taste," said Dietrich. "Me, for example."

Dani glared at the cup of creamy coffee.

"Do you want me to get you another drink?" asked Dietrich. "Tea? Hot chocolate?"

"I'll stick with coffee." Dani took a long sip of the bitter drink and then set the mug firmly back on the counter top. "I didn't mean to."

Dietrich frowned. "Didn't mean to what?"

"To kill him." Her voice was barely more than a whisper. "He called me a monster and he tried to kill me. When that didn't work, he tried to put me back. But I didn't want to go back to my prison. I didn't want to go back, so I set the world on fire." Dani took another sip of coffee. "That's my talent. A fire you cannot see, but it still burns. It burned not only the house, the grass, the flesh but the soul as well. My father was screaming. In that house, his body and soul cooked and died together. But not before he could shove me back in my holding. With the last dregs of his life, my father pulled Allison's soul back to the front and I was forced back into the chains that my father's Nameless friends had created for me."

"Allison regained control of my body again. She didn't remember what happened—I don't know why, for sure. I'd always known what was happening around my body, but apparently, Allison hadn't been aware of my conversation with our father. She awoke in a burning house. She couldn't see the flames, but she could feel their heat. And she could hear father's screams. Allison fled." A soft smile danced at Dani's lips. "She needn't have. My fires would never hurt _my_ body—even with her in control."

"After the unseen fire destroyed my father and the house, Louisa Cadmus realized my potential—except she thought it was Allison's potential. It's ironic. My father put Allison in my body to stop the Houses from getting their hands on me, but in his death, the Cadmus took his beloved daughter, thinking that Allison was me. And, oh, how Louisa adored Allison. Not for Allison, of course, but what she thought Allison was capable of. She raised Allison for seventeen years and throughout those seventeen years I was bound to the back of Allison's mind—watching, learning, and hating."

Dani could feel a coldness rising in her. The pit of her stomach had frozen over and it became difficult to swallow.

"I watched Allison grow from a sobbing, snotty little six-year-old who liked frilly pink dolls to the bratty teenager who liked boy bands to the innocent young woman who found a boyfriend at a coffee shop. I know every inch of her life. I can tell you about her overwhelming fear of snakes. I can tell you about her secret love for romance novels. I can tell you about when she first got her period. I can tell you about her grades in school. I can tell you about the first time she had sex. I can tell you about the time she stole condoms from a convenience store. I can tell you all the reasons she broke up with her boyfriend. I know every inch of her life. I know every inch of her personality. I was there at the back of her mind for every second of her life. And I hate her for it."

Dani closed her eyes and took a deep, calming breath. "Every time someone called her name—Allison—I'd want to set them on fire and watch them burn. The body they called 'Allison' was my body. Allison had no right to it. The only reason she possessed this body was because its true owner was in a prison her own father and his friends had created for her."

"But I'm not the type to sit back and surrender. I burned down my prison. Slowly and steadily over the years, I burned the chains that bound me. The Self-Named knew what they were doing, though; they made those bonds strong. It took me seventeen years to destroy the prison once and for all. Seventeen years for my chains to disappear entirely and for my talent to reach its full potential. When Allison's—my_—_Tasking Ceremony came around, I took control of my body again. And I scored the highest Number known ever recorded."

"The Houses think it was Allison who scored the 3.33—Louisa Cadmus has already arranged a marriage between her heir, Michael, and Allison. The Self-Named have already tried to kill Allison—and inadvertently me. The Houses will probably try soon. They all think it's Allison, that she's the one with all the talent. But they don't know that I'm here."

Dani opened her eyes and met Dietrich's gaze. His black eyes were a mask of calm. Dani picked up the mug and finished off the coffee in one swing.

"She took my life," said Dani. "And I want it back."

* * *

**Six**

Dietrich had nothing to say. He was still registering the story he'd just heard. He sat on the white stool in the most awkward position—his hands stretched out in front of him, clutching his empty coffee mug and his head pulled back as if he had been slapped across the face. He was aware that Dani was staring at him, her sharp, blue eyes waiting for a response. The only words he could come up with were:

"Those Who Name Themselves?"

Dani's eyes narrowed. Dietrich—inwardly cringing at his own insensitivity—kept an expression of mild curiosity plastered across his face.

"Why do you care?" asked Dani.

"Gatherings of rebellious Nameless chimera are never good," said Dietrich. "I prefer to keep tabs on them if I cannot stop them from meeting altogether."

"Rebellions are only bad for those in power."

"Of course," said Dietrich. "But I doubt you're trying to protect Those Who Name Themselves."

"Oh?" Dani leaned forward. A wicked grin spread across her face, transforming her from a young woman into a fiendish fairy from legend—the kind of fairy that lured men to ponds and then drowned them in the murky depths.

The sudden memory of the fairies from his childhood nightmares (which originated from the bedtime stories his mother had told him) set Dietrich on edge. However, he didn't let his agitation show and he spoke in even tones. "You know who I am. Why would you be here talking to one of the Aegon if you didn't want something from me?"

She stared at him, allowing a smile—one that showed the barest hint of her white teeth—to toy at her lips. For one fearsome second, Dietrich thought she was going to snap. She would let loose her fire and burn him, his home, and perhaps the entire Aegon to the ground. She could do it if she wanted. He never doubted the possibility for a second.

Suddenly, she tipped her head back and let out a bark of laughter.

"I like you." The fiendish smile was gone and had been replaced by a genuine one. "You're not stupid."

"Right."

"You're correct, of course," said Dani. "I don't like the Houses—their actions are part of the reason why my life was stolen. But I'd rather side with one of the Houses than the Named—obviously I would never work with the Cadmus, if we want to talk about stupidity and unnecessary drama, you should try living with them for seventeen years."

"Then you don't know the Aegon very well," muttered Dietrich.

"Are the Aegon bad too?" asked Dani. "Should I go to the Leandre then? I hear there's trouble brewing in their council and I don't want to become involved with that."

"Is there?"

Another grin flashed on Dani's face. "That's a story for another day."

"Those Who Name Themselves?" asked Dietrich again.

Dani rested her elbow on the countertop and rested her cheek against the hand of her propped up arm.

"What to say?" She clicked her tongue and shook her head.

"You're faking," said Dietrich. "You know exactly what to say."

Dani smiled. "They're a group of Nameless who are loyal to none of the Houses. The Nameless chimera are growing tired of watching the Houses run the show. Some of them are starting to take action. The group, their title shortened to the Self-Named, started around twenty-four years ago with my father and his friends when they heard the rumors about what really happened to Peter Oswalk and his family."

"Rumors?" asked Dietrich.

"Rumors. Nothing was ever proven. The only people who know the truth is Louisa Cadmus and Peter Oswalk and from what I've seen neither one of them is telling."

"You know a lot for someone who was shackled in her own body for twenty-three years," said Dietrich, genuinely impressed.

"It's called paying attention," said Dani. "It helps when you can only watch from afar."

Dietrich nodded. "So Peter Oswalk was the trigger."

"The idea came from what happened to Peter Oswalk, but my birth was the trigger," said Dani. "You have to realize that I only know what my father told me. After my birth, the situation became realto him. You know as well as I do that the Houses look down on the Nameless—but at the same time, they need the Nameless. The Houses want strong chimera. And, as in the case of Peter Oswalk, the Houses will do anything to possess strong Nameless chimera. Realizing the danger of the situation, especially after my birth, my father and his friends decided to form the group known as Those Who Name Themselves. They want the Nameless to possess the power they deserve. The group was small when my father told me all this. I don't know what their numbers are now, but I suppose their numbers have grown. There are the Nameless who are too weak for the Houses to want and there are the Nameless who simply don't want anything to do with the Houses. Both have reason enough to join the Self-Named."

Dietrich frowned. "So the Self-Named are making their move now?"

"Are they?" asked Dani, leaning forward.

"I suspect."

"How do you know about them then?" asked Dani.

Dietrich shifted in his seat and rested his forearms on the table. Dani, mockingly, copied his movement, and the two of them stared at eye level across the counter top.

"This is Aegon business," said Dietrich

"Didn't you hear me?" asked Dani. "I hate the Cadmus, I don't trust the Leandre, and I want to see the Nameless burn. The only place I can go is to the Aegon. I am the strongest chimera in the world and I have said that I will help you—and your House—survive_._ I have just shared with you my life story, and you won't share what you know with me?"

"Not with you," said Dietrich. "I believe you. I don't trust Allison."

Understanding flashed through Dani's eyes. Then, she smiled. "You should have told me sooner. I can take care of that."

Dietrich's eyebrows shot up, but he didn't say anything. He watched curiously as Dani turned away from the counter—making it clear that she was not talking to him, but to someone else.

"Allison, darling," said Dani. "I know you've been listening to this entire conversation and you are sitting at the back of my mind in utter shock. You're probably thinking this isn't true. You're probably planning to go to Louisa the second you have control of my body again—don't worry, darling, you will have control of the body again; I have plans and I need my existence to be kept a secret for these plans to take place. However, before I give you control of my body again, I want to make something very clear to you. As you have seen and heard this entire conversation, I see and hear everything you do and say. If you tell anyone—and I mean _anyone_—about my existence, my meeting with Dietrich, the conversations I have, or anything you hear from me without my permission—I will find your wannabe-lawyer, your precious Thom, and I will make you watch as he burns and you can add another charred corpse in the grave next to mother and father's."

As the last word left her lips, Dani turned back to Dietrich with a smile. "She won't tell anyone anything."

Dietrich was mildly surprised at how little the threat had frightened him. He had no doubt that Dani would burn the wannabe-lawyer Thom if Allison disobeyed her command, but at the same time, Dietrich could understand why Dani was the way she was. She was simply trying to survive.

"You are incredibly good at making threats," said Dietrich. "I should take lessons."

"You flatter," said Dani. "Now that we have the Allison problem squared away—tell me what the Self-Named have been up to."

Dietrich hesitated for a second—but only for a second. It took one look at her keen eyes for him to know that it would pay to tell her the story. So he did. He told her about General Hendrik Aegon and Alissa Evjen, as well as the plans for Knute Vidar. And when Dietrich was done there was a curl to Dani's mouth that told him all he needed to know.

"You want to help," said Dietrich.

"That's why I like you." Dani leaned back on the stool. "You know me so well."

"You can't help. You have a spy sitting in your head. Telling you this story was dangerous enough."

"I can handle the spy in my head," said Dani. "Besides, I am the perfect little helper for this operation. You want to destroy the Self-Named—well, so do I. You want to see the Aegon have power over the other two Houses—well, so do I. Your talent brought you to me for a reason, you know. I'm full of vengeance and spite for everyone but you and your House. I have the same goals as you, and I happen to be ridiculously powerful. You'd be stupid to turn me away."

Dietrich regarded her. She was perched on the edge of the stool, her eyes bright with anticipation.

"Fine," said Dietrich. "But keep the spy in your head under control. And listen to me."

Dani grinned. She reached up behind her head and yawned, stretching out her arms. She paused, arms still stuck in the air. Her eyes widened and she looked at Dietrich in alarm.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Yawning, stretching, my eyes feel heavy—is this what it feels like?"

"What are you talking about?" asked Dietrich.

"I'm tired." Dani's eyes were glowing with excitement. "I've never been tired before. I've seen people be tired. I've seen sleep through Allison's eyes, but I've never been tired before. When people are tired, they go to sleep, right?"

"That's usually what people do."

"So I can go to sleep?" asked Dani. "I can turn out the lights and close my eyes and drift off to sleep and I'll dream. I won't be sitting in the dark thinking to myself—I will actually dream. I'll get to rest?"

"Are you crazy?" Dietrich probably should have thought the question through before asking.

"I was locked in my own body for twenty-three years. Of course, I'm crazy."

Dietrich stared at her. There she was, Danielle Tveit, the most powerful chimera in the world, standing in his kitchen with a broad smile on her face—excited because she could_ sleep_.

Suddenly, Dietrich couldn't take in anymore. He laughed. And it wasn't just light chuckle or faint amusement—he laughed from his gut. He actually had to bend over and clutch his aching abdomen.

"What is it?" asked Dani. "What's so funny?"

"Go home and sleep, Dani."

She scoffed. Then, a sudden idea struck her and she asked, "Is your bed comfy?"

The laughter immediately drained out of Dietrich. "What?"

"Is your bed comfy?"

"You're not using my bed."

"You have a couch," said Dani, waving her hand in the general direction of his living room.

"And you have the Cadmus Mansion." Dietrich slid off his stool and moved to stand between Dani and his bedroom.

"That's Allison's home," said Dani. "Not mine."

"What?" Dietrich was at a loss for words.

Dani sidestepped Dietrich and headed to the bedroom. "Now be a gentleman and take the couch." She paused, her hand on the doorknob. "And if you try anything funny, I will burn your house to the ground with you shrieking and screaming inside as your very soul is devoured by flames that you can't even see, let alone put out."

She slipped into the bedroom and closed the door firmly behind her.

* * *

**Alright, I think this is the last chapter I published on the original, so after this chapter we're moving into new territory for everyone (except me, because I know everything that's going to happen). The initial meeting between Dietrich and Dani has to be one of my favorite scenes in the whole book. Definitely in the top ten. **

**So...what do you think? Does Dani's story make sense? What do you think will happen between Gull and Raoul? Dani and Dietrich? What did you think of the meeting between Dietrich, Sabine, and Peter? ... This really was Dietrich and Dani's chapter. So what do you think of their characters? Anything I should improve on? **

**Review and let me know!**


	7. The Deceit

**7. The Deceit**

**38 Day of Spring, 1288**

* * *

**One**

Michael Cadmus tried not to yawn as the Head filled the office with her quiet rage.

Head Louisa liked to image herself as one of those awe-inspiring figures that people looked up to with a mixture of admiration and fear. She actually had a step-by-step process for scolding her grandsons. First, she would invite Michael to her office and make sure he was comfortable, that he had a cup of tea and biscuits. Then, in absolute silence, she would stare at him, unleashing her fury through her eyes alone. If Michael didn't respond to that treatment, she would start making snide comments, trying to knock down his self-esteem. And if that didn't work, she switched to direct insults. Then, when all else failed, Louisa Cadmus resorted to yelling.

When Michael had been eight-years-old, Louisa's quiet rage had worked. He'd confessed his sins and pleaded for mercy. But now, twenty years down the road, most of his grandmother's attempts to punish him for his failings had ended with her yelling while he tried not to look bored.

Today, however, it wasn't Michael who was on the receiving end of the quiet rage, but his cousin, Nathaniel. Poor Nathaniel had never outgrown his fear of their grandmother. He stared at the Head with glassy, blue eyes—as though he was afraid that blinking might upset her even more.

"What did you mean when you say she left yesterday?" Head Louisa sat erect in her armchair, her bony hands rested on the desk before her and her maroon dress draped neatly about her thin shoulders.

Nathaniel swallowed. "I don't know. She wasn't making much sense. She mentioned a 'Danielle' and it seemed important at the time, but then she said it didn't matter and ran off. She wasn't making any sense."

"You were the last person who saw her," said Head Louisa. "She said something about this Danielle and then disappeared from the Cadmus Mansion. Obviously, Danielle is important. Did she say who Danielle was?"

"No." Nathaniel shifted in the uncomfortable, black-velvet chair. "Yes. She was confused. I was confused."

"Yes," said the Head dryly. "I gathered that already."

Michael watched Nathaniel turn from pale white to a light shade of green. Nathaniel had never handled stress well to begin with, and after the Head had announced Michael to be her heir, Nathaniel had lost all ability to stay calm. Michael figured Robert and Margaret Cadmus were to blame, but he knew better than to voice his opinions on their parenting abilities.

"And you?" Head Louisa suddenly rounded on Michael. "Are you certain you have no idea where Allison Tveit might have gone?"

"She's been my fiancée for less than two days," said Michael in even tones. "Before then I'd spoken to her maybe ten times in my life. I haven't a clue."

"You don't think Danielle kidnapped her?" asked Nathaniel softly.

"We don't even know who Danielle is," snapped the Head. "Perhaps Danielle's behind this. Perhaps the Aegon or the Leandre is behind this. Right now it doesn't matter who is behind Allison's disappearance—the important thing is that my 3.33 chimera has disappeared and no one knows where or why!"

Head Louisa had reached the yelling stage quite quickly this time, Michael observed. Suppressing a sigh, he said, "Allison Tveit is the strongest chimera alive. I'm sure she can handle Danielle or whoever took her."

"Then why isn't she back?" Head Louisa had to put her teacup down to prevent herself from spilling. "Have you ever considered the possibility that Allison ran away herself because she doesn't want to marry you, Michael? Maybe you should make yourself more appealing so this doesn't happen again."

Michael resisted the overwhelming urge to smack his grandmother on the side of the head. He smiled at her. "As you wish."

"And Nathaniel." The Head ignored Michael and rounded on her other grandson. "Allison is your friend. You should know where she'd go at times like these." She sneered. "Unless you're as bad a friend as you are a grandson."

Inwardly, Michael cringed. Nathaniel looked as though some part of him had just keeled over and died. The fact that Head Louisa would say such a thing wasn't really a surprise—Michael was certain that she hated everyone, even herself—but usually she had enough decency not to say her true feelings aloud.

Michael glanced at the window behind the Head's desk and fought back a grimace. He'd been engaged for less than two days and already it looked as though his marriage was in jeopardy.

* * *

**Two**

When Knute opened the door to Dietrich Aegon's house, he stepped into a world of darkness. Other than the morning light that streamed through the door and fell onto the navy blue welcome mat, the house was cast in shadow. All the curtains were closed and the lights were off. For a second, Knute wondered if Dietrich was still sleeping—which was ridiculous because Dietrich Aegon was the biggest morning person Knute knew.

Knute reached for the light switch by the door when someone spoke.

"I think she drugged my coffee last night because there is no where I would've agreed to let her stay if I'd been in my right mind."

Knute pulled his hand away from the light switch and turned to see Dietrich sitting at the kitchen counter in the dark. There was, as always, a cup of coffee in Dietrich's hand.

Frowning, Knute lowered his hand from the light switch. Dietrich had insisted on training Knute at least a little before sending Knute into the field to investigate a group of Nameless chimera. Every morning for the past five days, Knute had arrived exactly at nine and Dietrich had been wide-awake, drinking a cup of coffee, and waiting impatiently for Knute to arrive.

Today was not like that, however. Dietrich was hunched forward over his coffee, massaging his right shoulder. He had crescent shadows under his eyes, and there was a ghostly look to his features—though perhaps that was because all the lights were switched off.

"Are you okay?" asked Knute.

"I slept on the couch."

Knute frowned. "Did you get tired of your king-size bed?"

"No. After telling me her life story, Dani Tveit decided she was spending the night at my place."

Knute's brow furrowed as he tried to understand what Dietrich had just told him.

"So what I got from that," said Knute slowly. "Is that some girl poured her heart out to you and you took advantage of her and now you're regretting that decision because she's clingy?"

Dietrich's right cheek twitched. "If only that were true. No, what's behind that door," Dietrich pointed a long finger in the direction of his bedroom, "is Allison Tveit's twin sister."

Knute blinked. "Allison Tveit? The 3.33 chimera?"

"No."

"What?"

Dietrich yawned. "Dani is the one who has a 3.33 Tasking Number, Allison just happens to be the twin who has controlled the body for the past twenty-three years."

"What?"

"Dani now has control of her body and she hates the Cadmus and the Nameless and she wants to help us bring down the group of Nameless that you're going to infiltrate." Dietrich took a sip of black coffee. "Just warning you. She slept for the first time in her life last night so she's either going to be in a really good mood or a really bad mood depending on whether she's a morning person or not."

"What are you talking about?"

Dietrich sighed. "If she's not a morning person, I can only assume she's going to burn down my house—which is a shame because I like this place."

Knute couldn't decide if Dietrich was joking or not. However, he didn't have much time to figure it out, because the door to Dietrich's bedroom opened and from it emerged a slender girl wearing nothing but a black t-shirt that fell just short of her knees. She stumbled into the kitchen and hopped onto the other stool. She yawned, scratched the back of her head, and asked Dietrich to make her some coffee.

Frowning, Dietrich surveyed her. "You don't even like coffee."

"I don't like fire but that doesn't me I won't burn you to ashes if you don't make me coffee."

Dietrich rolled his eyes and slid off his stool.

Knute still hadn't left the safety of the doormat. He gawked openly at the woman in Dietrich's kitchen. He hadn't thought Dietrich was the type to bring women home. Sure, she was nice to look at. She had smooth, white-blond hair and nicely toned legs—but she'd just threatened to kill Dietrich if he didn't make her coffee. And Dietrich had actually listened.

Knute swallowed.

Personally, Knute had never been attracted to women who liked to play it dangerous in bed, but maybe Dietrich had those interests. Who was Knute to judge? Gull had told him about men with stranger fantasies than murderous women.

Dietrich finished setting up the coffee pot and turned to stare at Knute.

"I know where your mind is going," said Dietrich. "And stop it right now."

Only at Dietrich's words did the woman see Knute. She swiveled around on her barstool and regarded him carefully for a second.

"So this is the one you picked up in the slums," she said. "What was him name?"

"You know his name," said Dietrich.

"Knute," said Dani as if she'd only just remembered. She surveyed him carefully. "He doesn't look like he could be a 2.73—are you sure?"

"You told her about me?" asked Knute. "In bed? Really?"

"And you don't look like a 3.33, but you don't see me complaining." Dietrich rubbed his right shoulder and shot Knute a warning glare. "I told you, I slept on the couch."

"He was very good," said Dani. "He didn't try to peek or anything."

"What?" Knute kept glancing between Dietrich and Dani.

"She threatened to set me on fire if I did." Dietrich leaned back against the kitchen counter. "Not that I have any interest in a crazy woman who just decides to sleep at a stranger's house." He paused. "How was your first sleep?"

A broad grin spread across Dani's face. "Amazing. It was so restful." She paused. "It went by really quickly though. I closed my eyes and then—bam—I was awake again. And I didn't dream."

"You dream whenever you go to sleep," said Dietrich. "But most of the time you just don't remember it."

The coffee pot clicked to signal that it was done brewing.

"Oh." Dani frowned. Then she looked up at Dietrich with a sudden eagerness. "Did you dream anything last night?"

"Yes."

"Do you remember it?"

"Yes."

"What did you dream?"

"Why should I tell you?"

Dietrich poured the black coffee into a cup and mixed milk and sugar into it—a lot of milk and sugar. He handed it to Dani and then return to his seat. Dani curled her fingers around the mug and breathed in the curling steam. She wrinkled her nose, however, at the strong coffee smell.

Dietrich tilted his head to the side and turned to stare at Knute. "Are you coming? We have things to discuss." His eyes flickered over to Dani and then back to Knute who still hadn't left the doormat. Dietrich sighed. "She doesn't bite."

"Only burn," said Dani. "And if I wanted to, I could reach you from here."

"Could you?" Dietrich's gaze sharpened with interest. "How far is your range?"

Knute scuttled across the threshold and into the kitchen, afraid that if he made any big movements, Dani might feel threatened and attack.

"Far," said Dani. "I don't know exactly though."

Knute reached the end of the island and stood there awkwardly. Both Dietrich and Dani turned to stare at him. The sleepiness had disappeared from both their eyes and they were watching Knute with focused curiosity.

"So," said Knute awkwardly. "No training today?"

"Of course, we're going to train," said Dietrich. "Every lesson is valuable."

"Training?" Dani took a small sip of her coffee.

"I'm helping him understand his talent. That way he'll be more prepared when he infiltrates Those Who Name Themselves."

Knute blinked. "What?"

"He wasn't here last night," said Dani.

"I'll fill him in." Dietrich finished off his coffee. "You got get a shower and get dressed. You've got bed hair."

Dani ran her fingers through her mess of hair and grinned. "Dietrich, guess what."

He raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

"This will be my first time getting a shower." Dani laughed and then headed back to the bedroom.

When she was gone, Dietrich collapsed back onto his barstool, the most exhausted expression on his face. "I'm going to get gray hairs before my time with her around."

Knute was still staring at the closed bedroom door. "She hasn't _showered_ before?"

* * *

**Three**

Sascha Aegon made certain the door was locked before she crossed the sitting room and joined her half-brother on the beige, leather couch. Christoph held out a glass of wine and Sascha accepted it, taking a sip of the dark-red liquid.

"You look tired," said Christoph.

Sascha's lips twitched into a reluctant smile. "You're supposed to tell me how good I look."

"Well," said Christoph, wrapping an arm around Sascha's shoulders and pulling her close. "You wear tired well."

After placing a quick, butterfly kiss on Christoph's lips, Sascha allowed herself a moment to sink against his chest, feel his muscles and warmth through the layers of clothing. It was a brief reprieve from the exhaustion of the past three days. Sascha had been hanging out in the North District around the Cadmus Mansion, trying to figure out Allison Tveit's routine—when she left the Cadmus Mansion, when she returned, when she was unguarded and vulnerable. Allison Tveit had left the Cadmus grounds twice in the past three days. Once to visit her boyfriend in the South District and once to go bar hopping in the Central District.

Sascha had watched Allison Tveit converse with her boyfriend in the park, and while Sascha hadn't been able to hear what they said, she'd seen the colors of their emotions—sorrow, frustration, regret—and figured they'd been arguing. Sascha had debating eliminating Allison Tveit right then, but then a stranger wearing a black mask had appeared. Sascha had watched as Allison Tveit burned the man alive. Shivers of excitement had run down Sascha's spine as she realized that Allison Tveit made an excellent chimera. What a shame that she'd have to die.

The second time Allison had left the Cadmus grounds, she'd headed straight to the Central District. Sascha had been surprised to see that Allison Tveit, the Cadmus's precious, sheltered chimera, entered a smoky dive bar around noon. Sascha kept her head bowed as she walked to the counter and ordered a shitty, cheap beer. However, Allison didn't stay long. After talking to a couple people, Allison left without so much as a glance behind. Sascha abandoned her beer and tailed Allison to another bar. Once again, Allison held a few clipped conversations before departing. Sascha followed her to a third location, and it was there that Sascha somehow managed to lose Allison. One moment, Allison had been talking to the ginger-haired bartender and the next she was heading to the back room. By the time Sascha deemed it safe to follow without detection, Allison had disappeared.

Sascha sighed and took a long sip of wine. "Father wants me to eliminate Allison Tveit."

Christoph curled a strand of Sascha's black hair around his index finger. "Of course. A 3.33 Tasking Number is monstrous."

"Allison Tveit is a hard woman to pin down."

"Are you having troubles?"

"No."

Christoph cocked one eyebrow. "So then why is Allison Tveit still alive?"

The image of Head Theodore Aegon's face flashed through Sascha's mind. She remembered the cold, resolution in his black eyes as he ordered Sascha to kill Allison Tveit. Her father had trusted her—not any of her siblings or cousins—with such an important task. How could Sascha fail him? How could Christoph even think that Sascha was so useless?

Sascha gritted her teeth and pulled away from Christoph. "You know these things can't be rushed. One mistake and the Cadmus will realize the Aegon is after their precious chimera."

Christoph swirled the wine around in his glass and glanced over at Sascha; his small, sly smile was at odd his severe features. "That's why you don't use your talent to assassinate Allison Tveit."

"I know," snapped Sascha. "I've been doing this for four years."

"And you're very good at it." Christoph wrapped an arm around Sascha's waist and pulled her onto his lap. "You'll be a phenomenal First Lady of the Aegon one day."

Sascha snorted. "It's against Aegon law for us to marry."

Christoph made a low murmur in his throat before kissing Sascha's exposed neck. "When I become the Head of the Aegon, I'll reverse that stupid law."

Sascha's stomach twisted. Christoph becoming Head meant her father would have died. She would no longer be able to see Head Theodore standing in the center of the Stateroom, his head held high and his sharp voice commanding the respect and fear of every member of the Aegon. Sascha felt a tremor of unhappiness stir in her stomach. She would personally ensure that there was no funeral pyre for the man or woman who harmed Head Theodore Aegon. The culprit would have to spend the rest of eternity with his or her soul bound to a rotting corpse.

"Don't talk about such things."

Sascha wrenched Christoph's head away from her neck. He lifted his dark eyes to meet hers and Sascha glowered down at him.

"What's wrong?" asked Christoph, pushing Sascha's hand away.

"We will never marry." Sascha's voice was low and deadly. "Father will wed you to one of our cousins or a Nameless chimera soon. You will have multiple wives and help lead the Aegon into a new era. I will spend the rest of my life killing for our father."

"What a sad life," murmured Christoph.

"It's the life I chose."

Finally, Christoph released Sascha. She slid of his lap and placed her wine glass on the coffee table. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that Christoph was still sitting on the couch, his head tilted back so that he could gaze up at her face.

"What?" asked Sascha.

Christoph kept his dark eyes fixed on her even as he took a sip of red wine. "You're a cruel woman sometimes."

Sascha made a noise of disgust. "I have to go."

"Back to the North District?"

"Where else? Allison Tveit isn't going to get herself killed."

Christoph's lips curved into a sharp smile. "Or maybe she will."

* * *

**Four**

After her shower, Dani changed back into her clothes from yesterday. Black jeans, black shirt, black boots—she'd had to dig in the back of Allison's closet, past the rows of yellow sundresses and pink shirts, to find them. But it'd been worth it. Dani couldn't imagine herself wandering through Shion, looking for the Self-Named in a frilly white skirt.

Dani tried to towel as much water out of her hair as she could before surrendering and deciding to let her hair dry naturally. Allison had some method to make the blonde hair silky and smooth, but Dani had only watched Allison wield the flat iron and hair product—she had no idea how to do it herself. Satisfied that she was dressed and clean, Dani headed to the basement where Dietrich and Knute were training.

The training took place in Dietrich's basement because he wanted to keep the number of people who knew about Those Who Named Themselves and Knute Vidar's part in the operation to a minimum.

Dani opened the door at the back of the kitchen and took the steps two at a time as she headed down to the basement. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she saw the two men, illuminated by the dull, gold lights in the ceiling. Dietrich sat in a wooden chair, his arms folded over his chest and his face a mask of calm and control. There was a bucket of tennis balls resting at his feet. Knute stood on the opposite side of the basement with several tennis balls spinning in circles around him. Beads of sweat had formed on Knute's forehead and the ends of his brown hair stuck to his skin. He was out of breath and exhausted, but his eyes were filled with high alert.

"Looks like fun," said Dani.

"It's dodge ball." Dietrich picked up one of the balls from the plastic bucket.

"I know. It was a training exercise for Allison and Nathaniel." Dani's mouth twisted into a bitter smile. "Allison was terrible."

"And you're not?" asked Knute.

Dani shrugged. "I've never played."

Suddenly, Dietrich threw the tennis ball at Knute. Knute's eyes widened. The ball managed to get a hand's distance away from him before Knute's excess soul caught the ball and stopped its movement.

"Pay attention," said Dietrich, picking up another ball from the bucket.

"I am," said Knute through gritted teeth.

"If that had been a heavier object, you wouldn't have stopped it in time," said Dietrich.

"Are you sure he's a 2.73 chimera?" asked Dani.

Knute scowled. "Are you sure you're a 3.33 chimera?"

Dani smiled, but didn't say anything. Instead, she sat down on the ground beside Dietrich and watched as Dietrich threw another tennis ball at Knute. Knute caught this one with much more ease and started moving it in a circle around him like the others. His shuddered under the strain of having to move so many objects at once.

Dani picked up one of the tennis balls and tossed it from one hand to the other. "Did you have to go through training like this?"

"Mine training was different since my talent is different," said Dietrich. "I learned how to kill or incapacitate using guns, knives, poisons, my bare hands—but mainly I learned how to control the colors. My uncle taught me how to tell time differences between soul paths and how to judge strength differences."

Dietrich threw his tennis ball at Knute and, a second later, Dani threw hers. Knute stopped the first tennis ball, but the second one sailed past his defenses and hit him on the shoulder. Knute cursed as the ball bounced one the concrete ground.

"You're not supposed to be throwing the tennis balls," said Knute. He picked up both tennis balls using his talent and added them both to the orbit so that he now had ten yellow balls circling around him.

Dani shrugged. "Nathaniel never could catch the second tennis ball either."

"Huh?" Knute wiped his forehead with the back of his left hand.

"Nathaniel Cadmus has the same talent as you," said Dani. "Except he has a 1.64 Tasking Number. His tutors would put him through this exercise a lot, but he only every managed to keep five tennis balls going and he never could catch the second tennis ball."

"I can catch the second tennis ball," said Knute through gritted teeth.

"If you say so." Dietrich picked up two tennis balls from the bucket and handed one to Dani. "What kind of training did the Cadmus put Allison through?"

Dani shrugged. "Well, Allison never showed any signs of being a chimera besides the incidents at my birth and when I took control. The Cadmus put her through various exercises to try to bring out her talent—such as dodge ball—but obviously Allison's talent never came out. She was put through all the standard chimera training though—she's best with the Ioann M12 semi-automatic."

"I always preferred the Howa 72," said Dietrich.

Dani threw the tennis ball first and Dietrich followed a second later. This time, Knute hadn't been distract by the conversation and he caught both tennis balls before they hit him and added them to his orbit.

Dani glanced over at Knute and the twelve tennis balls that whirled through the air. She nodded. "Not bad."

"Better than Nathaniel Cadmus," said Knute, grinning despite his exhaustion.

Knute managed to hold up to twenty-one tennis balls before he ran out of excess soul and let the twenty-second one drop. The difficulty, Dani remembered Nathaniel saying once, wasn't holding up the tennis balls or keeping them moving, but rather stopping the balls from hitting you. It takes a lot more excess soul to stop an object in motion than to put an object in motion.

"Isn't it easier just to misdirect the tennis ball?" asked Dani.

"It is," said Dietrich. "But Knute already knows how to do that and if he has to use his talent in a public place or with a team of people, it's safer to be able to stop objects completely rather than chance accidentally deflecting the object into someone else." He glanced at Knute. "But if you're ever fighting alone, feel free to just misdirect whatever comes your direction. It'll help you conserve your excess soul."

"Right." Knute was leaning forward, his hands resting on his knees and his breath coming out in heavy pants. "I don't like these exercises."

Dietrich rose from his seat and rolled his shoulders back, trying to get out the kinks from his night on the couch. "We'll stop here. We have to discuss how we're going to get you into Those Who Named Themselves."

"That's the most ridiculous name I have ever heard," muttered Knute.

Dani grinned. "Don't tell them that."

"I bet they know," said Knute. "That's why they go by the Self-Named instead."

Knute led the way upstairs and soon they were settled in the kitchen again. Dani and Dietrich took the bar stools, so Knute had to pull up a chair from the dining table. Dani smirked down at him from her barstool while Knute glowered up at her. Dani enjoyed feeling tall for once. She and Allison were always looking up at people.

After a sip from his water glass, Knute asked, "Can you explain how you intend to get me into Those Who Named Themselves?"

"It's a process," said Dietrich. "An errand boy has been spending the past few nights at bars, trying to weed out information about the Self-Named. If we can get you in contact with a member and he comes to trust you, then he can get you in to the group. The errand boy hasn't had any results yet, so we have time to train you."

Dani yawned. "Why don't you just go down to a bar, pick a fight, use your talent to show how ridiculously strong you are, and then let them come to you."

Dietrich and Knute turned to stare at her.

"And how would that work?" asked Knute.

"It's a power struggle." Dani was amused by Knute puzzled expression.

Dietrich frowned and drummed his fingers against the marble countertop. "You want us to bank on the fact that Knute's raw power can get him into the Self-Named?"

"The Self-Named are tired of being ignored by the Houses." Dani explained for Knute's benefit. "They want to be on equal footing with the Houses, but the Houses usually find strong Nameless chimera before the Self-Named can. The Houses have better networks and they have people like Dietrich who detect strong souls. The Self-Named are trying—or were trying—to stay under the radar, so if a strong Nameless chimera accidentally destroy a building or kills someone and it makes the news, the Self-Named can't approach the Nameless chimera without attracting the attention of the Houses. The Self-Named therefore have to search for chimera who haven't been noticed by the Houses. This means that the Self-Named find mostly weak chimera who have been ignored by the Houses—they'll be thrilled if they can get ahold of Knute. And the most direct way to do that is pick a fight in a bar."

"Right," said Dietrich, nodding. "As long as you don't kill anyone or destroy the building, a bar fight wouldn't make the news, even if it was a chimera involved. I'm betting the Self-Named look for recruits at bars, nightclubs, places of large public gathering."

"Exactly," said Dani. "Places where most House chimera don't frequent."

Knute ran his fingers through his matted brown hair. "Still confused over here."

Dietrich frowned. "But if the Self-Named want to keep under the radar of the Houses, why are they killing off the Seats?"

Dani bit her tongue and ignored the sharp pain the sensation brought. "I don't know."

"There has to be a point to killing of the Seat's possessors," said Dietrich. "Even if the Self-Named can kill all five of the Seat's possessors, the Seats will just be filled by more puppets of the Houses." Dietrich paused. He lifted his head and stared across the counter at Dani. "Unless, they plan to replace the possessor's of the Seats with members of the Self-Named. Except for the Warrior's, the Seats are decided by election."

"Oh. Most House chimera are work in the police force, the political offices, and the law offices—all of which are headed by the General's Seat, the King's Seat, and the Judge's Seat. To control the Seats is to control the House chimeras."

"And the Houses get their main source of income from their working chimera," said Dietrich. "If you control the Seats, you can effectively bankrupt the Houses."

Dani nodded. "They'll play off the People's dislike of the Houses. If they present their candidates as free of the corrupting influence of the Houses, they'll gain support from a significant amount of the populace."

"How does she understand this better than me?" grumbled Knute. "She's been a prisoner in her own body for her whole life."

"I could still see and hear," snapped Dani.

"Still," said Knute. "I thought Allison Tveit wasn't allowed out of the Cadmus."

"She was," said Dani. "Louisa Cadmus raised Allison to be the next Lady of the Cadmus. Allison's tutors taught her everything from politics to relations between the People and the Houses."

Dietrich shifted on his barstool. "We're just speculating. We don't even have confirmation that the Self-Named are the culprits."

"It's the Self-Named." Dani spoke with absolute certainty. "Unless they've changed members and ambitions over the years, it's them."

"It's been seventeen years," murmured Dietrich. He glanced over at Knute who was scowling at Dani. Dietrich tapped his index finger against the counter. "It might work, though, Knute picking a bar fight. But it would have to look real."

"How's your acting skills, Knute?" Dani turned a vicious smile to the man sitting below her.

Knute scowled. "Can't you get into a bar fight instead?"

"She has known associations with the Cadmus." Dietrich slipped off his barstool and moved across the kitchen to pick up discarded newspaper. He handed the newspaper to Dani. "She'd be recognized too. Someone leaked to the newspaper that Allison Tveit was in a dive bar yesterday and, after some investigation, the reporter found out you didn't return to the Cadmus last night."

Dani glanced down at the front page of the newspaper where a picture of Allison wearing a white blouse was printed beside the words "3.33 Chimera Taking A Dive". Dani felt her lip curl upwards. "Head Louisa is going to give Nathaniel the tongue lashing of his life."

Knute took the newspaper from Dani and read the title. "Shouldn't you go back soon?"

Dani scowled. "Over my dead body."

"Unfortunately," said Dietrich. "The last thing we need is the Cadmus to start looking for you on Aegon grounds. The primary suspects for your disappearance would be the other Houses. And nothing good can happen if the Cadmus find you at my house. You're going to have to return to the Cadmus soon."

Dani groaned, but she could see the sense in Dietrich's words. "Fine. But I'm coming back for that bed later."

"The couch is comfortable too, you know," said Dietrich. "And more your size."

"So wait," said Knute. "As important as this bed-versus-couch conversation is, I need to get this straight—when do you want me to go down to a bar, get drunk, and pick a fight?"

"Tonight," said Dietrich.

"Pick a fight with the most dangerous guy you see," added Dani. "More impact that way."

"Can't we just stage a fight?" Knute's voice was pleading.

Dietrich considered this, while Dani's shoulder slumped in disappointment.

"They'll see through a fake fight," said Dietrich, which cheered Dani up considerably. "And we can't afford to miss this chance. If you knew the fight was fake, you'd hold back and they wouldn't see everything you are capable. You'll use more of your talent in a real fight—you need to have them dying to have you." Dietrich drummed his fingers on the counter top. "Throw some insults about the Houses while you're at it. Make sure the Self-Named know you're on their side."

Knute looked from one to the other. "You two are trying to get me killed, aren't you? I'll be dead before I could even come up with an insult."

Knute looked on the verge of fainting, and Dani wondered if he could actually pull this off or if Dietrich should find another Nameless chimera. Dani itched to get do the job herself, but Dietrich was right—she'd be recognized and no one in the Self-Named would welcome her, not with Niklas Pehr in charge.

Dani gritted her teeth at the memory of Niklas Pehr. The last time she saw him was seventeen years ago at a backyard barbeque, as he helped Allison put ketchup and cheese on her hamburger.

They'd all been there. Niklas Pehr, Josef Thosten, Tekla Valden, and Jonathan Tveit. The names that had been burned into her memory since she was six. The names of the people who had taken her life away. Only one of them was dead. Dani took a deep breath; the other three would join her father soon.

* * *

**Five**

The treadmill beeped as Sabine Leandre slowed the speed from a run to a walk. She wiped some sweat from her forehead with the back of her arm and then took a swig from her purple water bottle.

"You look sexy when you're pissed."

Raoul hopped onto the treadmill next to Sabine and switched it on. He was wearing his usual workout gear—black gym shorts and a t-shirt with the logo for his favorite comedy TV show stamped across the chest. His ash-brown hair was darkened and matted with sweat, but he still had a boyish grin on his handsome face.

"Finished working the swords?" asked Sabine.

"Yep. Time to give the legs a work out." Raoul feet thudded against the treadmill as he ran. "So what's bothering you?"

"Marcel."

Raoul glanced sidelong at her, his gaze sudden cautious.

Sabine sighed. "I don't break that easily. At the end of the day, I'm the one he's married to."

"I know." Raoul turned his head, suddenly interested in the buttons on the treadmill.

"It's Allison Tveit," said Sabine. "Marcel wants us to try and convert her to the Leandre."

"Small chance. She's engaged to Michael Cadmus now. Head Louisa announced it yesterday."

Sabine smiled. "Didn't you see the newspaper? Allison Tveit went missing last night."

"Did she?" Raoul missed a step in his run as he turned to stare at Sabine. "You're kidding."

"Nope. Someone saw her at a dive bar in the Central District and one of the Cadmus servants confirmed that Allison Tveit never returned home."

Raoul's eyebrows shot up. "So we may actually have a chance. If she's running off to dive bars after her engagement to Michael Cadmus, maybe she'll be willing to cooperate with the Leandre."

Sabine switched off the treadmill and came to a halt. "I'll arrange a meeting with Allison Tveit. Probably on some kind of neutral ground—a lunch place, maybe. I need you to act as my bodyguard."

"No problem." Raoul took a sip from his water bottle. "How are you going to get the message to her?"

"I'll call the Cadmus."

Raoul glanced over at Sabine, surprise written all over his expression.

Sabine felt a warm, smug feeling spread through her chest. "I'm the Lady of Leandre and current possessor of the Warrior's Seat—who would dare refuse me a simple meeting?"

"Good point."

Sabine picked up her things and stepped off the treadmill. "Marcel and Bastien are, uh, busy tonight. You want to come over for dinner and have a movie marathon?"

Sabine watched as Raoul cringed and guilt washed over his face. Sabine hated seeing that expression. She knew how Raoul pitied her and she knew he would do anything in his power to keep her safe. She loved him for it, but sometimes she wished she could scratch that expression off his face and tell him that he just had to be her friend—hang out with her when she was lonely and make her laugh when she was sad. He didn't need to save her.

"Sorry," said Raoul. "But I'm going bar hopping tonight."

"Really?" Sabine knew Raoul liked to hang out at sports bars on occasion, but for the most part, he avoided going out at the end of a cycle.

"I promised a friend I'd help her find her missing brother," said Raoul sheepishly.

Sabine instantly understood. She rolled her eyes. "It's nice to know some things never change."

Raoul grinned. "Movie marathon next time?"

"Sure."

Because, Sabine thought as she headed for the locker room, there would always be a next time.

* * *

**Six**

From the moment Dietrich had told Dani that she'd have to return to the Cadmus, Allison had been filled with terror. She'd had no control over the body at the time, but she could feel chills run through her.

Allison couldn't let Dani loose amongst the people of the Cadmus. Who knew what Dani—who was filled with twenty-three years of bitterness—was capable of? She'd burned a man alive, she'd killed her own father, she'd threatened to murder Thom, and she'd admitted to wanting Allison dead. And so far, Dani had only had control of the body a few hours at a time. What would happen when Dani started taking control for days? Would Allison slowly start to fade out of existence? Would she spend her life sitting at the back of Dani's mind, watching the world through a screen?

Allison had expected Dani to maintain control of the body, return to the Cadmus, and pretend to be Allison. It was Allison's slim hope that member of the Cadmus would realize that cruel, violent Dani was definitely not Allison.

However, Dani stopped outside the white-stone wall that surrounded the Cadmus grounds. After glancing left and then right to make sure no one was watching, Dani leaned back against the rough, stone wall, gazing out at the darkening street. The sun was setting on the horizon, leaving long orange streaks on the road where the light touched.

Dani spoke in calm, quiet tones. "Remember that the chains are gone. I can take control at any time. If you try to tell anyone about me like you tried to tell Nathaniel this morning, I will take control of the body again, I will go straight to Thom's apartment, and I will kill him."

Quivers of fear rippled through Allison's soul, but she did not have time to dwell on the threat. Dani took one last deep breath, and suddenly, Allison was pulled forward. Dani had released control of the body. There was space in front of her and Allison rushed to fill it.

Gasping, Allison opened her eyes. She sat on the sidewalk, her back still pressed to the white wall. Dani had given up the body to Allison. Why? Allison didn't understand. Dani hadn't had control of the body for seventeen years, and yet she gave back the body so easily. Why?

Allison stumbled to her feet. Her legs were trembling and it was only the support of the wall that kept her from falling over again. She glanced down. It was still her body. The same slender legs, the same flat hips, and the same blond hair. She had lived in this body her entire life. From when her legs had been short and bony to when her chest had grown to the point where she had to start wearing bras, from when she had skinned her knees when she was five years old to when her first period had come when she was thirteen—it washer body. Hers. She would be damned before she let anyone take it.

Allison took a deep, calming breath. Her hands were shaking. She pressed them together, hoping her nerves would settle down soon.

She needed a story. Something to explain her disappearance.

She'd been upset about breaking up with Thom. She'd needed some space so she'd gone to stay with a friend.

That was a complete lie and anyone who knew her would see through it. She didn't have any friends outside of the Cadmus.

Maybe she could say that she'd spent two days wandering around Shion trying to cope with breaking up with Thom. That explanation was too extreme, but it was the only story she could come up with that was somewhat believable. Thom had been an important part of her life—her love, her support, her comfort—of course she'd be distraught over ending things with him.

Allison took a deep breath and stepped away from the wall.

The gate to the Cadmus grounds was not far away. Somehow, Allison remembered how to walk. She made her way down the sidewalk to the arching gates. The black metal towered over Allison—almost twice her height. Sculpted serpents wove between the vertical, steel bars, their black eyes staring down at Allison with all the superiority of the Houses.

"Allison Tveit."

An indolent voice slid through the gate. Peter Oswalk on the other side of the metal bars. He smirked at her, the top of his short brown hair haloed by the golden light that illuminated the Cadmus property.

Allison was too stunned to say anything. Her run-ins with Peter Oswalk had been kept to a minimum—by choice, of course. Peter had always scared her. When Allison had first been brought to the Cadmus, Peter had been a teenager, still learning how to use his talent. But even at fourteen, Peter had possessed a talent to be reckoned with and he moved with a saunter that reminded Allison of a wild dog.

"You've been a naughty girl, Allison Tveit. The Head's been throwing fits all day because of you—it's been giving me a bitch of a headache."

"Fits?" repeated Allison in a strangled voice. The Head had always seemed so in control.

"Her prize cow has gone missing."

"Prize cow?"

Peter grasped the bars of the gate and grinned at Allison. "It's not a nice feeling, is it? To have people look at you like you're inhuman. They don't see you, they see your Number."

Allison stared at Peter open-mouthed. In her mind, she overlapped Peter's grinning face with Dani's. Lips stretched wide to show his teeth and his eyes feverish like crackling fire—more menacing and violent than a genuinely, happy smile.

"Though, I have to say," said Peter. "If people thought _I _was bad, it's because they haven't met you. You are entirely new breed of monster."

At the word "monster", Allison snapped. "Watch what you're saying. I—I—I will burn you to a pile of ashes if you don't stop talking right now."

Allison stared at Peter, trying to look intimidating. Dani had used that threat multiple times on Dietrich Aegon and he complied each time.

Peter laughed. "You've grown a set of balls, haven't you? But I'd be careful if I were you—you never know when someone is going to kick you in the nuts."

There was a click and then the metal gates opened. They moved outwards, and Allison had to step back to avoid getting hit by them. When there enough space between the two doors of the gate for Allison to slip through. She entered the Cadmus gardens and turned to Peter.

"Thank you."

"You should have stayed away." He wasn't grinning anymore.

"What?"

"But what do I know? Maybe you couldn't resist the appeal of Michael Cadmus." Peter sighed forlornly. "He's dreamy." Then, he tipped his head back and let out a wild burst of laughter.

"Very funny," snapped Allison.

Shoulders still shaking with laughter, Peter stepped through the gates onto the sidewalk outside the Cadmus. The gates shut behind him and Allison realized dimly that they had changed places.

Peter glanced over his shoulder. "Careful, Allison Tveit. You know these snakes as well as I do. They'll bite you in the back as soon as you stop paying attention."

Still grinning, Peter wandered down the sidewalk. Allison watched him until he disappeared from view and she was left alone on the gravel path.

* * *

**Seven**

Peter shoved Simeon Tenne into the wall of the alleyway. Simeon threw up his hands to stop his forehead from smashing against the brick.

"Don't kill me!"

"Killing you takes effort." Peter had a fistful of Simeon's dark hair. "I'd rather have an easy conversation and then you can get back to your drink and your friend, and I can get on with my life."

Simeon whimpered as Peter held his face against the brick wall. Because of their height difference, Simeon was forced to stoop, his shoulders rounded and his head hanging forward at an awkward angle. Peter felt a wave of disgust. Simeon should've known not to follow the prostitute into the back alleyway. Simeon had practically walked into Peter and the rest had been easy. Peter's reputation preceded him and he had to put little effort into intimidating Simeon.

"Whatever you need to know," cried Simeon. "I'll tell you. Please, please, don't kill me."

"Who killed Alissa Evjen-Leandre?" Peter asked the question in the same tone that he might ask about the weather—calm, casual, and uncaring.

"Who?"

"Don't play dumb with me. You were on the courthouse video camera at the time of Alissa Evjen-Leandre's murder."

"Video camera?"

Peter pushed Simeon's face in the wall. Simeon released a high-pitched yelp as his nose and forehead grated against the bricks.

"Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! I'll tell you! Just stop it!"

"Tell me."

"They're called Those Who Named Themselves." Simeon's voice was muffled against the bricks and Peter eased up just enough so that Simeon could speak freely.

"Go on."

"Some of the Nameless—we just want to Houses to appreciate us. The House chimeras treat us like dirt and we want them to understand that we're all the same. That's it! I swear!"

Peter snorted. "So you tried to kill of Phillip Cadmus?"

Simeon choked. He tried to turn around to look at Peter, but Peter shoved Simeon's face back against the wall.

"And you messed up and killed Alissa Evjen-Leandre instead," sneered Peter. "Smart move. Did you kill General Hendrik Aegon as well?"

"Not me!" shrieked Simeon. "That wasn't my sect."

"Your sect?"

Simeon hesitated. That hesitation was all Peter needed for him to decide that Simeon needed a little more motivation. It took Peter little effort to draw the image of a thin knife in his mind. His excess soul took the form of an unseen blade and Peter dug the tip of the blade into Simeon's side. Simeon's whole body tensed up and he released a low, pitiful moan.

"Don't scream," said Peter. "Talk."

"Those Who Name Themselves are divided into sects." Simeon tried to scoot away from the blade, but Peter held him in place. "I don't know any of the other sects—just mine! We were given the assignment to kill Phillip Cadmus."

"And who leads your sect?" asked Peter.

When the response was slow to come, Peter dug the unseen blade a little deeper into Simeon's side.

"I'd be very careful if I were you. The Cadmus doesn't care if you live or die. The only way you're going to get out of this in one piece is the generosity of my heart. And right now, you're not making me feel very generous."

"Tekla Valden," gasped Simeon. "Her name is Tekla Valden."

* * *

**Eight**

Knute stared into the depths of the glass. He had drunk about half of the amber beer and he didn't even feel light headed. And he was going to have to be very, very drunk to get through this. Knute had no idea who he was going to pick a fight with. Everyone at the club seemed to be having a good time. Knute sat at the bar, glancing over his shoulder in case an obvious opponent appeared. There was a group of young women in short dresses to his right. There was a couple directly behind him who couldn't keep their hands to themselves. There was a blond woman who couldn't stop tossing her hair over her shoulder. There were two men talking to each other in hushed voices.

Knute sighed. He didn't want to fight any of them. If he had a choice, he would quietly finish his beer and go back to his apartment in the South District. But there wasn't a choice. Not really. Dietrich had been clear—if Knute wanted to escape the slums, he had to convince the Aegon he was worth having. And part of that convincing was to infiltrate Those Who Name Themselves. And to do that Knute had to pick a fight.

Bored, Knute reached back into his well of power and used his excess soul to lift his beer glass off the counter. He stared at the amber liquid for a moment and then grasped the glass with his right hand.

Dani had selected a bar in the South District for Knute to visit. She said Thom and Allison had frequented it when they were dating and it was popular amongst college students, which meant that if the Self-Named, were looking for young chimera, that would be the place to go.

"You know, this place isn't known for their beer."

A tall, brown-haired woman sliding into the seat beside Knute. She was wearing a short gold dress that shimmered in the lights of the bar. She had an almost hawkish face with sharp features that seemed almost predatory. However, her smile was light and she didn't seem dangerous.

"What are they known for then?" asked Knute.

The woman lifted up her own drink, which was almost white in coloring. "Classic margarita."

"Ah." Knute glanced down at his glass and repeated one of his father's favorite phrases. "Beer is the drink of the common workman."

A smile curled at her red lips. "You don't look like a common workman."

Knute's eyebrows shot up. "I don't?"

She lifted the glass to her lips, but didn't drink. "Let me ask you a question, how do you feel about your life right now?"

Knute's eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"

"Letta." She held out a hand.

"I—"

Knute didn't get to finish his sentence. A foreign woman with black curls and copper-colored skin cut into the conversation, grabbed hold of Letta's wrist, and hissed, "Raoul Leandre just walked into the bar."

Letta mouth dropped open. "Raoul Leandre? Here? Caarina—are you sure?"

"He introduced himself as Raoul Leandre. He says he's looking for someone."

By the time Caarina had finished talking, Letta had completely forgotten about Knute. She grabbed her margarita and followed Caarina through the crowd, disappearing from Knute's sight. Knute sat at the bar a moment longer, staring at Letta's now empty seat.

Raoul Leandre. Knute felt like groaning. The legendary Raoul Leandre who, while he had very little talent as a chimera, was incredible in physical combat. The infamous Raoul Leandre who could fight toe-to-toe with the Bastien Charlot. The incredible Raoul Leandre who served as bodyguard to the Head of the Leandre. If there was anyone to pick a fight with to attract the attention of the Self-Named, it was Raoul Leandre.

Knute didn't believe in mere chance. For a brief second, he allowed himself to fantasize that Dietrich and Dani had actually arranged for Raoul's arrival and Raoul was expecting Knute to fight him. But, of course, Raoul was part of the Leandre and Dietrich was part of the Aegon—they would never cooperate. Besides, Dietrich believed a real fight would be more convincing. Which meant Knute would have to fight Raoul Leandre and not die.

Or Knute could just slip away and forget about the whole thing.

He finished his beer in one gulp and hopped off the barstool. No. Knute had come this far, he wasn't backing out now.

Knute pushed his way through the crowd, trying to find where Letta and Caarina had gone. It wasn't that hard, actually. In the right corner of the bar, there was a gathering of people, standing on tiptoe, trying to catch a glimpse of Raoul Leandre.

Knute wasn't tall for a man, but if he stood behind a group of women, he could peer over their heads and see what was going on. Though his sisters had talked about Raoul Leandre obsessively at the dinner table, Knute had never seen the man in person. However, Raoul was hard to miss. He stood a whole head taller than Knute and was almost twice as broad.

Hands shoved n the pockets of his windbreaker, Raoul was talking to a booth of four young women, who, like Knute's sisters, all seemed to be infatuated with him.

"I don't know anyone by that name," said one of the women at the booth.

"It's not a common name," said another.

"Newt?" The third woman ran her fingers through her long, brown hair. "Isn't that some sort of an animal? Did you lose a pet?"

Raoul let out a bark of laughter. "If only. I had a pet goldfish once. I never fed him and I never cleaned his tank. It got to the point where he was eating his own shit. He went blind and died when I was twelve. Sabine flushed him down the toilet and Marcel decreed that I should never have pets again. It think it's an official Leandre law now—Raoul shall never own a pet."

The women laughed. Knute glanced to his right and saw Caarina and Letta watching Raoul. Letta had an expression of wide-eyed awe plastered across her face, while Caarina's face was drawn and pinched.

"Alas," said Raoul. "My inability to look after animals is not why I'm bar hopping tonight. I'm doing a favor for a friend. My friend seems to have misplaced someone by the name of Knute Vidar—does anybody know him?"

Knute ducked his head behind the group of women. It felt as though a bucket of ice had been dumped over his head and left him gasping for breath.

Raoul Leandre was looking for him? Why? What business did Raoul Leandre have with a Nameless chimera from the slums? How did Raoul Leandre even know that Knute existed? Who was this friend?

"No one?" asked Raoul, scanning the crowd. "My friend will be devastated. I'm devastated on my friend's behalf." Raoul sighed and tried to look like he was on the verge of tears.

Knute sucked in his breath. There was no way he could fight Raoul now. He'd be recognized. Maybe Knute could just slip away and try again tomorrow night. He knew Dietrich wanted to get in contact with the Self-Named as soon as possible, but Dietrich wouldn't want him to risk exposure to the other Houses. Tonight or tomorrow wouldn't make a difference in the long run, right? It wouldn't make a difference in saving the lives of the Seat possessors, right?

"Ah—sorry!"

"Don't touch me, you ciosaolean bitch."

Knute glanced over his shoulder to see Caarina staring up at a young man with a pronounced widow's peak. The young man had grabbed hold of Caarina's wrist and Caarina's face had turned dark red with embarrassment.

"Sorry," said Caarina. "I didn't meant to hit you."

"Fuck off—we don't want your kind here."

The young man started to twist Caarina's arm. Caarina let out a cry of pain and Letta leapt forward, trying to wrench Caarina's wrist out of the man's grasp.

Knute gritted his teeth. Some part of him wanted to help Caarina and Letta, but another part of him knew that helping would only draw attention to himself—and attention was the last thing he wanted. Not with Raoul Leandre in the bar.

"Hey, what's going on? Anything I can help with?"

The deep, clear voice of Raoul Leandre broke into the conversation. Knute kept his head down as Raoul surveyed the scene, his mouth curled into a frown.

The young man glanced down at Caarina and then quickly released her wrist. "Nothing."

Caarina quickly stepped away from the young man, rubbing her wrist and shooting him a venomous glare. Letta wrapped a hand around Caarina's waist and murmured something in her ear. Caarina nodded, but continued to scowl at the young man.

"Calm down, gent." Raoul placed one hand on the young man's shoulder. "We're all just here to have a good time. No need to start a fight."

Knute couldn't help but roll his eyes. Who do you think you are, Raoul Leandre? Some kind of knight in shining armor?

The young man noticed Knute's eye-roll and assumed the gestured was target at him. A red blush crept along the man's neck and he took a step towards Knute. "You got something to say?"

"What?"

Surprised, Knute lifted his head to meet the young man's gaze—a second later, he realized his mistake.

Raoul Leandre stared down at Knute, his brow knitted in confusion. His eyes raked over Knute's face and a flash of wonder filled Raoul's expression. "Are you—?"

Panic flooded Knute and he responded in the one way he knew how. He reached out with his excess soul and grasped the nearest beer bottle. With all his power, Knute hurled the glass at Raoul Leandre's head.

Raoul noticed the glass at the last second, and leapt backwards.

"By the Ancestor," cried Raoul. "What are you doing?"

Knute didn't give Raoul time to process. The glass changed direction in mid-air and rocketed towards the back out Raoul's head.

"Watch out!" a woman screamed.

Raoul didn't need the warning. He ducked and the glass sailed over the head of the crowd before slamming into a wall and shattering into a thousand pieces. A couple screamed and leapt from their table as glass showered down on their now empty seats.

There wasn't much time to process what he'd just done. Knute reached into the well of power in the back of his mind and spread out his excess soul. He found two chairs behind him and pushed the chairs at Raoul.

"Chimera!" someone shrieked. "He's a chimera!"

Raoul grabbed the first chair by its wooden back and used it as a shield against the other chair that Knute threw at him. Both chairs broke and splintered on impact, leaving Raoul standing over a pile of broken wood, holding on the a fractured chair leg.

"Not bad."

Raoul was grinning now; the prospect of a bar fight seemed to energize him. He shifted his grip on the chair leg, holding it before him like a weapon. It took a Knute a moment, but he realized that Raoul was using the chair leg as a substitute sword.

"Not bad," said Raoul. "But you forget, I've fought Sabine Leandre—and no one can compare to her."

"Two words—Allison Tveit." Knute caught himself before calling her Dani. "You think your Houses are safe? You sit on your high horses and look down on the rest of us—well, let me tell you, by the time Tveit is done with you, you will be kneeling in the fires of your own destruction."

Raoul's eyes narrowed. "Are you threatening the Houses?"

"Obviously."

"Just making sure."

And then Raoul punched Knute in the face.

Knute hadn't been expecting it, and perhaps that why he allowed Raoul such an easy shot. But even if he had seen it coming, Knute wasn't sure he could have dodged it. Raoul was infamous for a reason. He moved faster than Knute would have thought possible. Raoul lunged forward—a quick strike—sharp and full of power. Knute stumbled back from the shock of the blow and the entire right half of his face was burning. He touched his skin with his hand, but his face—nose, cheek, and eye—felt stiff and awkward.

"Shit. That hurt."

"Well, yeah," said Raoul, returning his right hand to his grip on the chair leg. "I was trained in the Leandre."

"Yeah." Knute blinked, trying to bring some of the feeling back into his face. "But that hurt."

A wicked grin flashed across Raoul's face. "Would you like to try again?"

With his one good eye, Knute glared up at the giant in front of him. As if he would allow Raoul another shot.

Dietrich had taught Knute how to preserve his excess soul in a fight—and that was all very useful, but when Knute reached into his well of power and pulled out his excess soul, Knute wasn't thinking of Dietrich's lessons. Knute was going on instinct, and instinct told him to throw everything at Raoul. The tables. The chairs. The pictures on the walls. The glasses. The bottles. Knute stretched out his soul, caught hold of everything in the room that wasn't tied down, and lifted them into the air.

Screams filled the room. People fled the bar, pushing and shoving to escape the bar fight between chimera. Only Raoul remained in the bar, brandishing the chair leg before him, his brown eyes sharp as he took in his surroundings.

"Impressive."

Knute threw it all at Raoul. If he'd expected Raoul to flee, he was sorely mistaken. Raoul's eyes narrowed and he lifted his makeshift sword. When the first table reach him, Raoul swung the chair leg and sliced through the wooden table.

Knute blinked, taken aback. Surely that was impossible.

But Raoul paid no mind to what was supposed to be impossible. His chair leg sliced through tables, paintings, and glasses. Raoul dodged the small objects, moving on the balls of his feet to avoid being hit.

With a .28 Tasking Number, Raoul Leandre was barely a chimera, so he chose to learn the art of sword fighting to make up for this weakness. But when the Houses had access to guns, why would Raoul prefer swords? Knute remembered a conversation he'd overheard between his sisters. Lisabet had claimed that Raoul's talent was to create unseen blades, but because his talent was so pitiful, he could only create blades around already existing objects. It explained why Raoul preferred his dual swords to the popular semi-automatics the Houses used.

"Your excess soul can't last for very long," said Knute. "You're only a 0.28 chimera."

A glass shattered on the bar floor, the shards flying in all directions. A few pieces created red slits in Raoul's arms and legs. He barred his teeth and kept his gaze fixed on Knute. "If I had my swords, you'd be dead."

Knute hurled another two chairs at Raoul's head. Raoul broke the first one, but the makeshift sword failed to slice through the second one. The back of the chair slammed into Raoul's shoulder, knocking the wind out of him. Raoul coughed and spluttered, but Knute gave him no time to recover and Raoul dropped to the ground to avoid having his head taken off by a barstool.

Knute took a step closer, hurling a cocktail glass at Raoul's head, forcing Raoul had to roll to the side to avoid it.

They both paused for a moment; Raoul crouching on the ground, glaring up at Knute and Knute standing over Raoul, surrounded by hovering broken pieces of wood and glass. Both men were immobile, unsure as to who would make the next move.

"Knute Vidar."

The use of his name caused Knute to hesitate. He glanced from side to side nervously and—to his immense relief—he saw that the bar was empty. No one had heard Raoul.

Knute glanced down at Raoul. "Don't look for me again. I have things I have to do and I don't need you screwing it up for me."

Raoul wiped some blood from his left forearm. "Gull asked me to find you."

A sick feeling filled Knute's stomach and his whole body tensed. "How do you know my sister?"

Raoul's eyes widened and he shook his head. "Not like that. I didn't sleep with her. We met in the street and she recognized me."

Knute hurled a splintered piece of wood at Raoul. Raoul kicked it away and the wood skated across the floor and out of sight.

"Listen!" cried Raoul.

"I'm leaving." Knute took a step towards the door and then paused. "If you follow, I'll kill you."

"Don't be stupid. You can't kill me. I'll find you again—I made a promise to your sister. But remember, next time I see you, I'll be armed."

Knute glanced down at Raoul, who was still crouching one the floor, surrounded by broken glass and decorated with small, deep cuts. Despite the situation, Raoul was grinning. Not even for a second did Raoul believe that Knute had the ability to defeat him.

"I could kill you now," said Knute.

"No you couldn't. You could try and I might get a few more scrapes and bruises, but you couldn't kill me."

Remember the plan, Knute reminded himself. It's all a show. He had played his part perfectly. He'd defeated Raoul Leandre—albeit an unarmed Raoul Leandre—in a bar fight. He'd made his hatred of the Houses clear. All he needed was for the Self-Named to take the next step.

Knute let the pieces of wood and glass drop to the floor. Undisturbed by Knute's sudden surrender, Raoul continue to stare solemnly up at Knute.

It's all a show, Knute reminded himself. He turned around and walked out of the bar, hoping Raoul had the sense not to follow.

Knute stepped out onto the sidewalk outside the bar and tried to ignore the hundreds of eyes that were fixated on him. He could hear them whispering amongst themselves; it took all of Knute's self-control to ignore them. Refusing to make eye contact, Knute walked down the sidewalk, away from the bar. Knute recalled the image of Dietrich Aegon walking—an easy, confident movement. Knute tried to copy the image, but he knew he didn't looked nearly as calm and controlled as Dietrich.

Knute strolled down the street, made a right turn, and then a left. It was only when he was certain that no one was watching him that Knute allowed himself to stop and breathe a long sigh of relief. He leaned again the granite wall of a clothing store. All the lights were off and a red "closed" sign rested in the window. Knute placed his hands on his knees and tilted his head back to stare up at the orange-dyed sky.

Well, he'd done it. He'd followed Dietrich and Dani's plan. Now where were the Self-Named to swoop in and beg him to join their group? Knute glanced down the small side street—there was a wrinkled, hunched man in a flannel shirt and two very drunk, middle-aged women.

Knute sighed. So he'd made an enemy of Raoul Leandre for no reason at all.

"You're either very brave or very stupid."

The two women from the bar stood beside Knute. The tall, hawkish Letta and the short, dark-skinned Caarina surveyed Knute quietly.

Knute took a step away from the granite wall and said, rather stupidly, "You followed me."

"You didn't try very hard to shake us off," said Letta.

"I didn't see you." Knute glanced around the alleyway, just in case someone else had followed.

"That's my talent," said Letta. "I can hide myself and others from view."

Knute looked from Letta to Caarina, the beat of his heart picking up speed. "Who are you?"

* * *

**I added two new segments to this (part three and part five) because they make the events of the next chapter clearer.**

**We had a couple new POVs in this chapter. What did you think of Michael Cadmus? What did you think of Peter Oswalk? And what about the Sascha-Christoph relationship? Sabine and Raoul? The Dietrich, Dani, and Knute trio? What about the conversation between Allison and Peter? And finally, w****hat did you think of Raoul versus Knute? Did I explain Raoul's reason for using swords, not guns well? Is there anything you're confused about? Any part of this chapter that's slow for you?**

**Review and let me know!**


	8. The Intrusion

**NOTE: I added two new parts (Part 3 and Part 5) to the previous chapter. They help explain what's going on in this chapter, so I recommend you go back and read them read quick.**

* * *

**8. The Intrusion**

**39 Day of Spring, 1288**

* * *

**One**

Anton Macris folded his arms over his chest and tried not to look too dissatisfied with the four members of Pehr's Sect who had shown up for training. They were renting out a court at a gym in the Riverend District. The gym's owner was a Nameless chimera who, while not officially one of the Self-Named, was willing to lend them space to train. Anton sat on the metal bleachers, four folders of notes sprawled open in front of him as he watched the chimera go through the training routine. They were to focus on drawing out their excess soul a little bit at a time.

Espen Grier, the bellhop with the ability to create colored lights, was surprisingly good at the exercise. It was only his first day of training and Espen had mastered every exercise that Anton had thrown his way. It was a shame, Anton thought, Espen had the technical skill, but not the strength to be great addition to the organization.

"Alright." Anton's voice cutting through the concentration of each chimera. "Take a break."

The chimera rose from their seats and made their way towards the restrooms. The four white, plastic chairs were lined up in a row along one edge of the polished court. They were spaced as far apart as possible, so that if anyone lost control, it was unlikely that they would hit someone else. Anton glanced across the court where Boi had left a deep indent in the brick wall.

Boi Nielson was the opposite of Espen—he had the talent, but lacked the focus or desire to learn control. It was his seventh week of training, but Boi still lose command over the unseen force his excess soul created. Boi would laugh and joke about his mistakes with the other chimera, which only frustrated Anton more. A chimera's talent was a gift. Boi's lighthearted attitude was an insult to the hardworking Self-Named chimera.

Anton watched as Boi and Espen came back onto the court after their run to the water fountain. They laughed and jostled each other, talking about the movie they saw together last week and the curvaceous actress who played the female lead.

Sighing, Anton scanned over the folder in front of him thoughtfully: Boi Nielson, marketing major at Shion College, age twenty-three, ability to make unseen waves of force, suspected to be a mildly strong chimera, member of Pehr's Sect.

Anton tapped the top of the bleacher seat with his index finger. It was Niklas Pehr's job to train the members of his sect—Those Who Name Themselves had been created so that Nameless chimera could learn how to control their talents and meet other people who felt removed from society. It was Niklas's job to estimate each sect member's talent level—it cost a ridiculous amont of money to rest the Tasking Chamber from the State Hall, and most Nameless chimera couldn't afford the price, which meant that they had no way of knowing how strong they actually were. It was also Niklas's job as a founder to put the Self-Named into action—the organization did not exist as a social function alone; the chimera involved wanted to take a stand and create change. After all, the Houses could not be in power forever.

How could one man be expected to do so much?

Anton leaned back, holding the edge of the seat to keep himself upright. It was a relief to know that Niklas relied on him—though sometimes Anton thought he might collapse from exhaustion.

He closed his eyes. It'd be nice to go home and collapse on the couch.

"You look half-dead," said a familiar voice.

Anton opened one eye and stared up at the heart-shaped face of Caarina Macris. Everyone always said that the Macris siblings looked incredibly similar. They possessed the same pitch-black curls, the same copper skin tones, the same almond-shaped eyes, the same round faces, and the same broad-tipped noses. The only difference was their heights—for as much as Anton was tall, Caarina was petite.

"How are you?" asked Anton, pulling himself up into a sitting position.

"Niklas has you working for him again, I see." Caarina glanced around the court. "Did you even sleep last night? I got home at three and I didn't see you."

"What were you doing last night? I thought the restaurant gave you the day off."

"Letta and I went fishing." Caarina settled into the seat beside her brother. "We found one. Get this—he got into a bar fight with Raoul Leandre and won."

"Won?"

Caarina nodded enthusiastically. "Raoul Leandre was looking for him, but he wouldn't be taken by the Houses so easily. He practically destroyed the whole bar in the process."

The shock faded and the implications of what Caarina was saying began to set in. "Please don't tell me you recruited him."

"Why not?"

"If the Houses are looking for him," said Anton. "Bringing him into the Self-Named will draw the Houses attention. We've managed to stay under the radar so far, but with the recent assassinations of the Seats…" Anton glanced over at his sister's mortified face and sighed. "You already recruited him, didn't you?"

"Yeah. Later this afternoon, I'm taking him to meet Malia Olvirsson."

Anton leaned back on the bleacher. "Nothing to be done then."

Caarina swallowed. "But you should've seen him. He's really strong. You know Raoul Leandre can go toe-to-toe with Bastien Charlot."

"I know." Anton yawned. "What's done is done. For your sake, I hope he doesn't bring the Houses to our doorstep."

Caarina frowned and then prodded her brother in the side. "What time did you go to bed last night?"

"Around five. I was working at the port late last night."

"Again?" Caarina glanced down at the four chattering chimera. "And now Niklas has you training sect members?"

"Not many showed up."

"Some of them are busy."

"All fourteen of them?" Anton scoffed. "They should be thankful for the opportunity to be trained. Before Niklas created the Self-Named, only the House chimeras received this kind of training."

"Be nice. They're not incompetent. Your sect did succeeded in poisoning the General."

Anton snorted. "And then Valden's Sect had to botch the murder of the Judge. They had one job. It was supposed to be quick. The General, the Judge, the Master of Coin, the Warrior, and the King. One right after the other." Anton ran his fingers through his hair. "They had one job."

"But you succeeded," said Caarina. "Where Valden's Sect failed, you succeeded."

"Of course we succeeded. We didn't try to use our talents to kill the General. It'd take the Houses seconds at the crime scene to realize that the killers were Nameless chimera. We chose the slow method so the Houses wouldn't figure it out."

Caarina made a face. "And then Valden's Sect fucked it up."

"Keep your voice down. No one can know whose sect was assigned to what."

"I know, I know. Sorry. I got carried away."

Anton glanced down at the court where the four chimera—Espen, Boi, Vissa Sorensen, and Laban Arud—were standing in a circle, talking excitedly. None of them seemed to have heard Caarina's words.

"Hey!" Anton's deep voice rolled around the room, drawing the four chimera's attention to him. "Don't you have sets to be doing?"

Nervously, the four chimera started to jog around the court—Vissa, who was a secondary school track star, led the three men. Anton watched them for a moment. They'd run ten laps around the court, to the point of exhaustion, and then try to control their talents. A chimera should have control even when tired and under stress, to lose control in such situations could be deadly.

"You're merciless," said Caarina with a smile.

"Don't you have your own training session to go to?"

"Can't." Caarina hopped to her feet. "I'm going to visit Mother. I just thought I'd stop by first and see if you wanted to come."

Anton gave his sister a scathing glare.

She grinned and fondly ruffled his hair. "You'll come around eventually."

"I wouldn't count on it."

* * *

**Two**

Dietrich didn't speak until he had a cup of coffee in his hands. It was a clear morning and rays of light slipped through the blinds of his kitchen window and settled on the wooden tabletop. Dietrich settled in the chair opposite Knute and inspected the swollen, purple lid over Knute's left eye.

Dietrich failed to mask his smile. "Raoul Leandre was looking for you?"

Scowling at Dietrich, Knute said, "My sister asked him to."

"You sister knows Raoul Leandre?"

Knute shook his head. "She's always been a fan, but she never told me she had a conversation with him."

"Raoul Leandre is an idiot."

"You don't like him?"

"I've met him maybe twice in my life," said Dietrich. "The first time was six years ago at Sabine Leandre's Seating Ceremony, where Raoul Leandre was the loudest person present The second time was two years ago when we crossed paths at the State House and he referred to me as 'the Aegon with the miracle eyes.'"

Knute leaned back in his chair and grinned. "Well, we agree on something—Raoul Leandre is a dick."

Dietrich smirked. He took a sip of his coffee, swallowing the drink despite the searing-hot temperature. "But this Caarina invited you to join Those Who Name Themselves?"

"She told me to meet her in the Lion's Bar in the Riverend District tonight at five." Knute bit his lip, as if he was debating whether to say more or not.

Dietrich waited for Knute to add anything, but when Knute didn't, Dietrich said, "That could be good or bad. She could want to include you in the Self-Named or she could've thought you're associated with Raoul Leandre and she wants to interrogate you. Of course, why approach you after the fight if she thought you were associated with Raoul Leandre? She could've just let you walk away." Dietrich frowned. "That she genuinely wants you to join the Self-Named is the only logical explanation I can think of—but that doesn't mean you should let your guard down. The Self-Named hate the Houses. Your association with Raoul Leandre now could work against you."

"Well," said Knute. "I did beat Raoul Leandre in a bar fight. I'll assume whatever they throw at me, I can handle."

"You beat an unarmed Raoul Leandre in a bar fight. If he had his swords at the time, you'd be a lot worse off than a black eye."

"It's nice to know you have so much confidence in me," said Knute dryly.

"I have confidence that you can get this job done. So far, you've done well. Now we will see if you can past the next test."

Knute nodded. He tapped his finger on the table for a second and then turned to look over his shoulder at the front door. "I thought the crazy woman was going to come again."

"Thank the Ancestor she didn't," said Dietrich, running his fingers through his hair. "I slept in my own bed last night. You have no idea how beautiful a mattress is until you sleep on the couch." Dietrich took another sip of coffee before adding, "Actually, she has an appointment today."

"And appointment?"

"Clare called to give me the latest gossip. Apparently, Lady Sabine Leandre has invited Allison Tveit for brunch at the Palace Café."

Knute let out a snort of laughter. "Sabine Leandre invited_ that _to brunch? Does she have any idea what she's getting into?"

Dietrich smiled. "I think Sabine will be having lunch with the actual Allison Tveit. Dani wants to avoid detection at the moment, so she'll probably give Allison control of the body."

"This is so strange," said Knute, shaking his head.

"What?"

"Two souls sharing one body. Is that even possible?"

"I've never heard of it happening before—but that doesn't mean it can't happen. My sister Magda does research on the interactions between our souls and bodies. According to her, the two connect at the brain stem. Before now, the only way the separate the soul from the body is cremation—which is why we have funeral pyres instead of burying the bodies like the heathens in Ciosaoles. There are ways to temporarily weaken the connection between soul and body, but never take a soul out of the body. But perhaps because Allison and Dani were newborn babies at the time, the rest of their brains were not fully developed and it was easier to dislodge Dani's soul and attach Allison's soul to the brain stem as well. Or perhaps, the process was only possible because Allison and Dani are twins—maybe even identical twins—which meant that their souls connected to the brain stem in the same way."

Knute was listening with an expression of intense focus. Dietrich fought to hide a smile; it was good to know all the lessons from his youth were turning out to be useful.

Dietrich glanced across the kitchen to the adjoining living room. The sheets he'd used two nights ago were folded neatly and perched on the arm of the couch, just in case Dani decided she liked Dietrich's bed better than the Cadmus. Other than that, the living room was spotless. Except for the floor molding behind the computer desk, Dietrich suddenly realized. From the side angle of the kitchen stool, Dietrich could see that the trim was coated in a thin layer of gray dust. With a sigh, Dietrich put down his coffee mug and headed for the broom closet where he kept his rags.

"What are you doing?" asked Knute.

"What do you think of Dani joining our operation?" Dietrich pulled out a torn, white rag that had once been a t-shirt.

"I think she's crazy and you're crazy for considering it," said Knute honestly.

"That was my reaction too." Dietrich slipped past the sofa and knelt down beside the computer desk.

Knute was leaning forward in his kitchen chair to see what Dietrich was doing.

"But she is a 3.33 chimera—that has to count for something." Dietrich slid underneath the desk, pushing the black, office chair away to make room, and wiped down the floor molding.

"Are you dusting again?" asked Knute in exasperation. "What is with you and this war against dirt?"

"Cleanliness is good for the soul." Dietrich slipped back out from under the desk and returned to the kitchen.

Knute watched as Dietrich threw the now dusty rag into a laundry basket. "You and I are two of the highest ranked chimeras alive, aren't we?"

"Yeah."

"So why do we need her?"

"Because she is_ the_ highest ranked chimera alive." Dietrich settled back into his seat. "And I would rather have her on my side than have her be my enemy."

"How do we even know if her story is true? Do you really believe that it's her body and Allison is a parasite?"

"Yes."

Knute frowned.

Dietrich had another sip of his coffee, enjoying the warmth that spread through his throat. "You didn't hear her tell the story. It's true."

"She could be the world's best actress."

"She didn't even know how to sleep." He smirked as he remembered her excitement as she realized she could fall asleep for the first time.

"She's dangerous."

"She's useful." Dietrich turned his head to the side, ignoring Knute's furrowed brow and worried eyes. The rising sun poured streams of light into the kitchen, casting distorted lines onto the marble countertops and kitchen table. Dietrich curled his fingers around his coffee cup and slid it out of the sun's touch. Finally, he said, "You have a meeting with Those Who Name Themselves to prepare for."

Knute bit his bottom lip lightly. "Yet another test."

"Let's hope you can pass this one on talent and not luck."

* * *

**Three**

Allison Tveit daintily stabbed a piece of lettuce. It was an awkward motion at best, since stabbing was hardly a ladylike gesture. Allison quickly glanced across the table to see if Lady Sabine Leandre had noticed her ungracefulness, but thankfully, Sabine seemed too absorbed in her own garden salad to notice. Allison lifted the fork to her mouth and it took her three bites to consume the large lettuce leaf. She was proud that she didn't spill any dressing on her clothes.

Sabine Leandre, on the other hand, didn't eat in small bites nor did she savage her salad. Sabine took easy, mouthfuls of lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, bell peppers, and mushrooms. She didn't spill a single drop of vinaigrette on her red pencil-skirt, and her white blouse remained spotless.

Sabine was an effortlessly gorgeous woman, and Allison felt clumsy in comparison. The vain side of Allison argued that a woman couldn't possess such a flawless face and figure as well as such a graceful manner. But there was Sabine, her red-brown hair pulled up into an elegant bun and her heart-shaped face bearing the minimum of make-up. A single string of pearls dangled around her pale neck; her legs were folded neatly beneath the table and she made no large, unnecessary movements. She had all the grace of someone who had been taught strict manners from a young age. And Allison hated her for it.

"I love this place," said Sabine.

"Yes, the salad's nice." Allison glanced down at the mess of garden vegetables.

"Not the salads," said Sabine dismissively. "Their true cooking talent is in the steak."

"Steak?"

"Raoul, Marcel, and I used to come here when we were teenagers. Marcel would always order the white-sauce pasta." Sabine made a face. "But Raoul and I—we knew where the good food was—we ordered steaks."

Allison wasn't certain if she was supposed to laugh or not, so she settled for a half-smile. She glanced across the restaurant, with its round tables each holding a clear vase of yellow flowers, to where the broad-shouldered figure of Raoul Leandre stood. In his jeans and windbreaker, Raoul couldn't have looked more out of place amongst the white marble pillars and crimson-painted walls of the Palace Café. It didn't help that there was a purple and black bruise on the left side of his face, a red scrape on the bottom of his jaw, and bandages that started at his hands and disappeared under the sleeves of his windbreaker.

He was Sabine's bodyguard for the day, and he watched their surroundings with sharp, wary eyes. He made Allison nervous. Nathaniel complained that bodyguards made it difficult to feel normal. The Head disliked it when Allison left the Cadmus grounds, so Allison had little experience with being tailed by a bodyguard—but she was beginning to understand Nathaniel's complaints now. She didn't like the way Raoul's gaze followed her every move. like a spider watching a fly.

Allison tore her eyes away from Raoul as a black-haired waitress refilled her glass of iced tea.

"Thanks, murmured Allison.

The waitress departed and Allison shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"Is something wrong?" asked Sabine.

"Nothing." Allison plastered a smile on her face. "You and Marcel were childhood friends?"

"And Raoul. We took our lessons together at the Leandre Mansion."

"Oh. I took my lessons with Nathaniel occasionally, but for the most part, I was alone."

Allison took a bite of salad. What was Dani thinking? Surely, Dani was watching. She saw the ladylike Sabine and the somber Raoul through Allison's eyes. Did Dani find Raoul threatening? Or was she entertained? Was she secretly laughing at Allison's inability to make conversation? A shudder ran down Allison's spine. Things were so much easier when she hadn't known Dani was watching.

Sabine leaned back in her seat. "Moving into a strange mansion and taking lessons by yourself—you must've had a lonely childhood."

"I was never alone," said Allison bitterly.

"Well, yes, the Houses are that way."

Allison nodded mutely. Dani had said that she knew Allison well? How well? What secrets did Dani knows? All of them, of course. Every embarrassing moment. Every little white lie. Every insecurity. Dani had seen them all.

Allison thought she might be sick.

A businessman bumped into black-haired woman, causing her to drop her purse. She shot him a venomous glare as he apologized repeatedly for his mistake.

"Do you like the Cadmus?" asked Sabine.

Allison's response was automatic. "The Cadmus is my home. The Head has been generous. She took me in when I was orphaned and alone, and she raised me as her own granddaughter. I owe everything that I have to the Cadmus and I would do anything to repay that debt."

Was Dani listening to Allison's words right now and laughing? Or was she spitting with rage that Allison could be so loyal to the Cadmus? But surely, Dani must realized that any other answer would put Allison's life in danger. Allison felt a wave of distaste rush through her. Dani didn't understand. Dani didn't know what it was like to be helpless.

"Are you afraid?" asked Sabine.

"What's there to be afraid of?" Allison swallowed and then added, "I am the most powerful chimera in the world. I can't think of single thing to fear."

A dark look cross Sabine's beautiful face, and for a moment, Allison thought Sabine was going to snap at her. But then, Sabine tilted her head back and let out a long, sweet laugh.

"I know that feeling very well," said Sabine. "At least, I did until you came along."

Allison was about to take a sip of her iced tea, but then thought better of it. She set the glass down and said, "There's always someone better."

"Indeed."

Sabine's eyes flickered across the room. Raoul nodded once. Sabine turned back to Allison with a warm smile.

"The Leandre would give you a freedom that the Cadmus has never offered you."

Allison felt a great weight form in her chest.

Of course. Lady Sabine Leandre would never ask Allison out to lunch for no reason. This was it. This was the consequence of Dani's Tasking Number. First the assassins and second the offers. Perhaps the order could've been done a little better.

"Listen to me." Sabine leaned forward. Her vibrant eyes captured Allison's gaze and refused to release it. "Do you know the stories that follow Peter Oswalk?"

Allison clasped her hands tightly in her lap.

When Allison didn't respond, Sabine said, "Peter Oswalk was born to a middle class family in the Third District. His father was an electrical engineer for Avon Power and his mother had a part time job at the Second Library. They were of the People. Their ancestry as far back as they could recall was of the People. So, you can imagine their surprise when the police came to their house and said that their son, Peter, had severely injured two of his classmates and killed one."

Allison's throat was dry.

"It was an accident, of course. Peter was six. When you're six-years-old, you have very little control of your talent—as you know very well."

No, thought Allison, I don't. Dani knows.

"It's unclear exactly how the fight between the four boys began. No one knows who was at fault. The only certainty was the result. When someone tried to hurt Peter, Peter hurt back. His talent is to create unseen blades. He can shape his excess soul into a whip of energy and slice through any surface. When the three boys attacked him, Peter lashed out in all directions. The unseen blades caused severe cuts in two of the boys and nearly took off the head of the third." Sabine paused and took a sip from her water glass. "That was how the Houses discovered Peter Oswalk, the fourth strongest chimera alive."

"I know," said Allison softly, finally finding her voice. "I know the story."

"Do you know the next part?"

"The Cadmus took him in."

"They tried," said Sabine. "All three Houses tried. The Leandre, the Aegon, and the Cadmus—they spoke to Peter's parents. They offered money, protection, anything. But David and Cecilie Oswalk were of the People. They didn't want to give their son to the Houses. They said he'd be fine with them. Peter didn't need the life that the Houses offered him."

Allison remembered last night, Peter's brilliant blue eyes glimmering in the darkness as he stood on one side of the gate and she on the other. _You should have stayed away_.

"Twenty days later, Peter's parents died in a car accident." Sabine smiled, though her eyes remained cold. "Minutes after the car wreckage had been discovered, Louisa Cadmus arrived at the Oswalk home and took Peter Oswalk. Once she had him, she was never letting him go."

Allison's eyes narrowed. "What are you trying to say?"

"There are whispers," said Sabine. "Here and there. Never anything concrete, of course. But every once in a while, when people are sure that the Cadmus's ears aren't listening, they say that someone tampered with the breaks of the car."

Allison was suddenly very aware of her surroundings. The whole world knew that Lady Sabine Leandre had invited Allison Tveit to lunch. No doubt Louisa Cadmus was dying to know what Sabine wanted from Allison.

To cover up the sudden tension in her muscles, Allison grasped her untouched iced tea. She lifted the cool glass to her lips, but paused as her gaze swept over the room.

Raoul Leandre, arms folded, leaned against a marble pillar. A business meeting took place at a table to Allison's right—five men in suits and ties. A bald man ate lunch by himself while typing something on his cellphone. Three women in tight-pencil skirts chatted over their salads. A thin man with bug-eyed glasses and slouching secretary were having a brunch date to Allison's left. The businessman who had bumped into the black-haired woman was now flirting with her. But the black-haired woman wasn't paying the businessman any attention.

Something dropped in Allison's stomach. The black-haired woman was the waitress who had refilled Allison's iced tea.

But there was something more than that. There was something painfully familiar about the arrogant tilt to the woman's chin and the venom in her charcoal-colored eyes. Allison had seen her before. But where?

"Is there something wrong with your drink?" asked Sabine.

Allison realized she'd been holding her glass of iced tea an inch from her lips for a good minute without moving. Smiling at Sabine, Allison took a sip of the iced tea.

The black-haired woman headed for the exit, her hips swaying from side to side as she moved.

* * *

**Four**

Allison Tveit and Sascha Aegon had met once before. Two years ago, in preparation for Head Louisa's seventieth birthday, Allison had been brought to a designer clothing store in the West District, where a custom-made, light-blue dress was to be fitted for her. At the same time, Sascha had been brought to the store to try on a dress that had been made specifically for the anniversary of her father's second marriage. As they passed in the store, Sascha arriving and Allison departing, the two girls had barely acknowledged each other's existence—Sascha might not have even known who Allison Tveit was at the time—but when Dani heard Sascha's name called out by the store clerk, Dani had taken careful note. Even at twenty-five, Sascha's reputation as a master of poisons proceeded her.

Dani spat iced tea all over the half-eaten garden salad. She had almost shoved Allison's soul to the side in an attempt to gain control of the body.

"Are you alright?" cried Sabine.

Dani coughed and choked, trying to get all the iced tea out of her mouth. She grasped the edges of the table and lifted her head, scanning the restaurant. Sascha Aegon was gone, the glass doors swinging shut behind her.

"That bitch," hissed Dani.

"What?" Sabine looked over her shoulder.

Dani rose from her seat, knocking over the glass of iced tea as she did so. The dark liquid soaked the neat, white tablecloth and poured onto the floor. Dani didn't care. She strode across the room, heading to the exit.

"Allison?" Sabine rose from her seat.

"Don't call me that."

"What?"

Dani had almost reached the exit when a strong hand caught hold of her forearm and spun her around. Dani was forced to stare up at the battered face of Raoul Leandre.

"You're causing a scene," he said gruffly.

"Let go of me." Dani started to reach for her excess soul.

"Raoul, let her go." Sabine carefully detached Raoul's hand from Dani's arm.

Dani started towards the glass doors, but this time, it was Sabine who stopped her.

"I'm not finished talking to you."

Dani's head snapped around. "You want me to abandon the Cadmus and join the Leandre? Over my dead body. You don't scare me with the rumors of Peter Oswalk. What happened to Peter Oswalk was a tragedy, but not the only tragedy of its kind. Do you think the Leandre is above such things? Then tell me what happened to Raimon Myrstrom-Leandre's brother? Tell me what happened to Vivill Magnessun-Leandre's daughter? Don't accuse the Cadmus of crimes that you are equally guilty of."

Sabine's grip on Dani's wrist tightened. "Marcel and I had nothing to do with that."

Dani threw some of her excess soul at Sabine's face. Sabine yelped and immediately released Dani's arm.

Dani sneered. "Louisa Cadmus might have been responsible for the death of Peter Oswalk's parents, but what does that have to do with me? My parents are dead, and I serve the Cadmus. Does that make me the same as Peter Oswalk? No. The difference is the Cadmus killed Peter Oswalk's parents, whereas I killed my own parents."

And then, before anyone else could try and stop her, Dani strode out of the restaurant, letting the doors slam shut behind her.

* * *

**Five**

"Is there something wrong with her head?" Sabine's face was colored with rage as she paced up and down in front of her husband's desk, resisting the overwhelming urge to throw something. "You can't just do that. You can't just get up in the middle of a meal and leave—you can't swear at the Lady of the Leandre—you can't threaten me and expect to get away with it."

Raoul stood by the office door, his arms folded across his chest and a smirk wrapped across his black and blue face. He leaned over a muttered something under his breath to Bastien, which caused Bastien to release a muffled laugh. Sabine shot an irritated glare in their direction, and they quickly tried to hide their amusement.

Sabine wanted to pick up one of the books off Marcel's desk and throw it at Raoul's head. He was supposed to be her friend. He was the one who would always take her side, the one who would comfort her when Marcel spent the night in Bastien's bed. Raoul wasn't supposed stand at the door, sharing jokes at her expense with Bastien Charlot.

Sabine had to fight to keep back the tears as she turned to stare at Marcel. "Do you still want Allison Tveit to join the Leandre?"

Sighing, Marcel minimized whatever document he had been looking at on his computer. He leaned back in his office chair and surveyed Sabine grimly.

It was a medium-sized office with a couple file cabinets to Marcel's right, book shelves behind him, and a wall of photographs to his left. There was one window in the office. The gold curtains had been pulled back to a view of the Third District. When the sun was shining, Sabine thought the view could be quite nice, but the afternoon sky was filled with rolling, gray clouds and a heavy rain pounded down on the roofs of the suburban houses.

Marcel drummed his fingers on the side of his keyboard. "You're saying Allison Tveit ran away in the middle of your brunch."

Raoul snickered. "Bolted."

Sabine bared her teeth at Raoul.

"If you looked at her like that," said Marcel dryly. "It's no wonder she ran."

"I gave her a chance to join the Leandre," said Sabine. "And she threw it back in my face along with her unseen fire."

"Are you okay?"

Sabine felt her face heat as Marcel leaned forward in his chair, trying to inspect her face for any burns. Sabine quickly turned away from her husband and said, "I'm fine. She didn't leave any marks."

Bastien frowned. "That doesn't seem like Allison Tveit."

"What do you mean?" asked Marcel.

Sabine's irritation returned and she snapped, "Yes. What do you mean?"

Despite Sabine's vehemence, Bastien spoke in calm, even tones. "I saw Allison Tveit at her Tasking Ceremony, remember. She seemed rather conservative."

"I thought she was a conservative girl too." Sabine scoffed. "And then she spat water all over her salad and stormed out of the restaurant."

"So," said Raoul, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "You're saying she has a split personality?"

Sabine scowled. "Allison Tveit was raised in the Cadmus and she is engaged to their heir. Head Louisa would have ensured that Allison Tveit was trained to be a perfect Lady of the Cadmus. Allison Tveit has manners. The woman who bolted out of that restaurant had none."

"She was going somewhere," said Raoul. "We kept delaying her, and she became angrier and angrier until finally she snapped and said that the Leandre was no better than the Cadmus and she would never join us."

Marcel sighed. "Well, you tried."

"And failed miserably," muttered Sabine.

"Well, yes," said Marcel. "And now we have to figure out how to stop the other council members."

Sabine folded her arms over her chest. "I say let them kill her."

"Sabine." Marcel gave her a pointed look.

"Sorry." She collapsed into the armoire next to Marcel's desk. "I'm just fed up. I got dressed up and I was on my best behavior—and then she goes and does that."

"You did great," said Marcel soothingly. "I'm sure there's an explanation for her behavior."

Raoul snorted. "My money's still on split personality."

* * *

**Six**

Knute sat at the counter, nursing a beer and keeping his head down. It was strange being in the Lion's Bar again. The last time he'd come was to drop off a bag of fine, white powder with the bartender. When he'd first arrived, just a little before five, Knute had been worried that the bar tender would remember him. He's worn a black cap and a hoodie, trying to hide himself from the bartender's eyes. But when the Knute made his way across the room, the bartender had glanced up, smiled in greeting, and then went back to work. He hadn't recognized Knute in the slightest.

Knute tugged his cellphone out of his jeans pocket and checked the time. Caarina was over thirty minutes late.

Patience, Knute reminded himself. This was all for the sake of freedom. All he had to do was investigate the Self-Named and the Aegon would let him join. The familiar sense of elation filled Knute's chest as he thought about the future. Less than a cycle ago, he'd been living in a same cramped, two-bedroom apartment in the slums. He'd had bread and jam for dinner, because his family could only afford meat on special occasions. He'd only been able to read during the day, because they couldn't afford lighting and heating at the same time. He'd only been able to shower at four in the morning, because the other building residents had emptied the water resvoir by breakfast. Knute closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Less than a cycle ago, he'd been delivering drugs to people like the bartender.

But the Houses had changed that. Knute no longer lived in the slums, crammed together with his family. The Aegon was paying for his apartment in the South District, an apartment where Knute could shower any time he wanted and turn on the lights and the hearer without any electrical issues. For once in his life, Knute was no longer felt abnormal.

The Self-Named didn't understand, thought Knute. They didn't understand that the Houses had saved him. Dietrich Aegon had found him buried in the mud and dragged him out.

"What are you thinking about?"

Caarina, her dark curls pulled back into a ponytail, grinned at Knute as she leaned back against the bar counter. "Sorry I'm late. One idiot got lost on his way to the meeting place."

Knute glanced over his shoulder. "There are others?"

"We met at a different bar." Caarina pushed off the counter and started towards the exit. "You coming?"

Knute abandoned his beer and followed Caarina out the bar and onto the uneven sidewalk of the Riverend District.

"How long have you been a part of the Self-Named?" asked Knute.

Caarina shot him a sharp glance and for a second, Knute thought he'd asked the wrong question. It had sounded innocent enough in his head. A regular guy just curious about her devotion to the organization. But from the look Caarina had given him, Knute was starting to regret his curiosity.

Finally, Caarina said, "A long time."

She led the way to the second meeting spot, taking a left turn at the end of the block and then a right. Knute walked behind, watching as she fished her cellphone out of her purse and adjusted the hem of her gray dress.

"What was it like?" asked Caarina abruptly.

"Huh?" Knute tore his eyes away from Caarina's smooth, brown legs.

"Growing up in the slums? What was it like?"

Knute scowled. "Fine."

Caarina's eyebrows shot up, but she only said, "I was raised in the Riverend District, actually."

"Really? You're from Shion?" Knute couldn't keep the surprise from his tone.

Caarina released a ringing laugh. "Just because I look foreign, doesn't mean I am." Her voice grew bitter. "My da was from Ciosaoles, but my ma was born and raised in the Riverend District, just like me and my brother."

"Oh."

"But we got out of the Riverend District, my brother and me." Caarina glanced over her shoulder at Knute. "That's what we all want, isn't it?"

Knute shrugged. "Maybe."

"I still go back home from time to time. But my brother won't. He hates this place. He says there's a lot of unhappy memories here. He's probably right, but there are a lot of happy ones too." Caarina took a right at the corner. "Do you have happy memories of the slums?"

Knute liked Caarina less and less as the conversation went on. "If I never go back there again, I'll be a happy man."

"Shame." Caarina replied to a message and then slid her phone back into her purse. "You sound like Anton."

Knute stored that information away. Caarina and Anton, foreign siblings who once lived in the Riverend District. He didn't know if Caarina and Anton were important to the organization or just grunts, but every name meant something. Every name meant that he was another step closer to joining the Aegon. Another step farther away from the slums.

* * *

**Seven**

Fat, gray clouds rolled over the lake and formed a ceiling over the city of Shion. The showers had been scattered throughout the afternoon. It was between showers as Peter Oswalk trekked through the narrow backstreets of the South District. His black combat boots sloshed in a puddle and Peter cursed so loudly that Simeon Tenne actually jumped.

"I thought you were going to let me go," moaned Simeon as Peter led him down another side street.

The alley was just wide enough for them to walk single-file between the two buildings. On the right was an old firehouse made of red brick and on the left was an insurance building made of beige stucco. The drainpipes that ran along the top of the walls were overflowing, dripping water down onto the two men. When one drop landed on the back of Peter's neck, he shivered and then pushed Simeon forward none too nicely.

"You can go free when I get what I want," said Peter. "But in the meantime—shut up and walk."

Simeon sniffed. "I told you where they were meeting. Tekla Valden will be there for sure."

Peter hated the rain. It'd been raining the day that Lord Johnathan Cadmus had come to his house in the Third District and told him that his parents had died in a tragic accident. Peter had always preferred Lord Johnathan to his wife. Head Louisa had never been good at keeping her temper under control, whereas Johnathan, with his logical, soothing voice, had managed to convince six-year-old Peter to join the Cadmus.

"You Cadmus chimera don't know how to treat your guests." Simeon's voice pathetically high-pitched.

Peter glanced over at the mousy-haired man. Not willing to lose his source, Peter had dragged Simeon back to the Cadmus Mansion with him last night. George Walder-Cadmus had been on patrol when Peter had returned and of course, George wasn't happy to see who Peter had brought. They put Simeon in one of the guest bedrooms and left the stone-faced Clive Heimark-Cadmus in the room with him. Peter would've been surprised if Simeon had managed to get a moment's sleep under Clive's intrusive gaze.

"Does Clive's face always look like that?" asked Simeon. "Like he ate shit and can't get the taste out of his mouth."

"Shut up."

Simeon made a face. "Someone has anger issues."

Peter pulled out some of his excess soul and shaped it into a fine knife-edge. He dug the unseen blade just deep enough into Simeon's shoulder blade to draw blood. Simeon shrieked and tried to run away, but Peter grabbed Simeon by the back of the shirt collar and pulled Simeon's ear close to his head. "Shut up. I can keep you alive for days while driving my unseen blades into your skin and making you scream for the Ancestor."

Simeon let out a long, low whine.

"I said—shut up."

Simeon nodded vigorously.

Peter released him and, for a moment, Simeon stood there, rubbing his shoulder. A slight red patch formed on Simeon's shirt where Peter's unseen blade had drawn blood.

Relieved at the sudden quiet, Peter continued through the damp, narrow alleyway. It had started to rain again, the fat droplets falling with increasing frequency, the clouds working their way up to a downpour.

Peter reached the end of the alleyway where a rusted, chain-link fence prevented any further progress. Peter ignored the fence, however, and turned his attention to the chipping, blue door to the abandoned fire department. He tried the handle, but the building was locked. His excess soul shaped into a thin, sharp blade and sliced through the deadbolt. This time when Peter tried the handle, the door opened easily.

* * *

**Eight**

"Knute Vidar. Age twenty-four. Born and raised in the slums. Father, Konrad Vidar. Mother, Gudrun Vidar. Two sisters, Gull and Lisabet Vidar. A strong chimera with the ability to move objects without touching them—however, you are undiscovered by the Houses. You finished school when you were seventeen and have spent a couple years moving from job to job until, five years ago, you found work as a delivery boy for a drug dealer."

Knute tried to not to look guilty as the gray-haired woman with a break for a nose peered at him over her laptop. She had been given no name.

Knute shifted uncomfortably in the cold metal chair and tried to keep a mask of frightened determination on his face.

Caarina had led him a bookstore, a closed sign taped to the window. However, Caarina hadn't been deterred by the sign. She'd walked down the side alley until she found a rusty door. She'd knocked on the door twice and it'd opened to reveal Letta, the chimera who'd been with Caarina at the bar the previous night. Letta had smiled when she'd recognized Knute and then led him to a backroom in the bookstore where a couple other Nameless chimera were waiting. One by one, the Nameless chimera had been called into the basement of the bookstore, where they were interviewed. Knute had been last to enter the basement and the last to sit in the uncomfortable, metal chair.

The basement storage room was dully lit so that Knute, could only see the vague outline of piles of cardboard boxes around him and the wooden desk that the bird woman sat behind. She flipped through some papers on her desk; papers that, Knute assumed, contained his entire life story. Or, at least, most of it.

"You've been reported missing," said the bird woman. "You haven't been seen at home for almost a cycle."

"Yes." Knute swallowed. "Family can be too much sometimes."

The bird woman showed no indication of understanding.

"I'm the chimera," said Knute. "My family expects so much from me. They don't understand why the Houses didn't come for me when I was child. I'm a strong chimera. I know I am—I defeated Raoul Leandre in a fight. But that doesn't mean anything to the Houses." He faked a snort of disgust. "They don't want a chimera from the slums—no matter how strong I am. My family expect me to perform magic. No matter how many times I try to explain to them that my talent is not magic, they don't understand. They expect me to raise them out of the slums. They expect me to work a miracle. And all I can do for them is shamefully deliver drugs under the cover of darkness. Eventually, it all got to me."

Knute stared at the bird woman, hoping that at some point in his speech something had clicked with her. She was a Nameless chimera rebelling against the Houses—she had to have some contempt for them, some part of her had to reach out to a young man whose life had been made miserable by the Houses' neglect.

However, the bird woman remained impassive.

"I had to leave for a while. I need to do that from time to time. Get away from it all. Pretend I'm someone else." Knute swallowed. He had to seal the deal. In the back of his mind, Gull's stories of her bizarre customers rung out like a bell. Knute hoped the bird woman didn't disapprove of prostitution too much. "If I go down to the red light district and find a nice girl, she'll pretend I'm whoever I want to be if I pay her the right price. I can be a member of the Houses, I can be the most powerful chimera alive." Knute gritted his teeth. "But in the end, I always end up hating myself more. I'm a chimera. They're chimeras. I'm stronger than a lot of them, but they have the nerve to act as though they're better than me. The more I want to become one of them, the more I realize that I can never be one of them. Even if they accepted me into their fold, they would still never see me as their equal." Knute paused for a breath. "The Houses once served a purpose. They once protected us from the outside. But the Houses have become corrupt and arrogant, and I wonder if we can't protect ourselves from the outside now."

It was then. Right then that Knute saw a flash of triumph in the bird woman's eyes. And then it was gone.

"Caarina," said the bird woman.

"Yes?" Caarina emerged from the shadows—Knute hadn't even realized she was in the room—and approached the bird woman's desk.

"Find a sect that will take Knute Vidar. I'm sure his talent is needed somewhere."

Knute's heart felt ready to jump through his chest. He had passed the test. Not by luck. No, this time he'd passed by his own skill. For the first time in his life, Knute was glad that he came from a family of practiced liars.

* * *

**Nine**

Peter Oswalk killed the three Nameless chimera in the waiting room. According to the Simeon, they were potential members of the Self-Named who had been brought to the fire department that night to be evaluated by Tekla Valden. Peter glanced down the freckled boy who had tried to attack Peter with his measly talent. It was a shame. They'd picked an unfortunate night to join to the Self-Named.

"She's beyond that door." Simeon's voice was barely more than a whisper.

Peter glanced over his shoulder and the wiry man. Simeon couldn't tear his gaze away from the body of the freckled boy. There was greenish tinge to his pale, sunken cheeks and Peter wondered if Simeon was going to vomit all over the concrete floor of the abandoned fire department.

Peter shrugged and turned to face the office door. Time and uselessness had eaten at the doors edges, causing the wood the splinter. Peter reached into his excess soul and formed two long, sharp blades. He lashed out and two long, thin lines appeared in the deteriorating wood. The pieces of the old door fell to the floor, revealing the dim office beyond.

"You could have used the doorknob," muttered Simeon.

"But that would be so much less intimidating."

Peter stepped through the doorframe and caught a glimpse of the four people inside. A skinny man with a mop of brown hair, a petite woman in an extra-large t-shirt, a burly man with white teeth, and a tall woman with edges as sharp as Peter's blades. It was the tall, blonde woman who caught Peter's attention. She sat behind the office desk, poised like an empress at the top of a crumbling empire.

Peter smiled and took another step into the dark, bland office. "You must be Tekla Valden."

She drew herself up to her full height and said, "You must be Peter Oswalk."

"Oh?" Another step forward. "Are we playing a game of who knows what? Oh good. I love games." He smiled. Or, at least, it was supposed to be a smile, but he was fairly certain that it came across as more of a grimace. "I've intruded on a recruitment session for Those Who Name Themselves."

"Simeon led you here," said Tekla.

The petite woman shifted nervously, her eyes scanning the room. Looking for an escape? Looking for an opening? She shared a nervous glance with the burly man. He gave her the barest of nods in response.

Peter tilted his head to the side, his eyes never straying from Tekla's face. "You are one of the founders of Those Who Name Themselves."

"I don't play games," said Tekla stiffly.

Peter reached for his excess soul. "Don't spoil my fun. I don't like it when people spoil my fun."

He lashed out to his left. His unseen blade slashed across the petitie woman's shoulder. Sh released a howl of pain as she collapsed into the man's arms. The skinny boy rushed forward, trying to stop the blood dripping from her gaping wound.

"It's still you turn," said Peter, still smiling.

Tekla's eyes narrowed. "I already made my move."

Peter frowned. He was growing bored. It was better just to get the job over with. He grasped his excess soul and lashed out at Tekla.

Nothing happened.

She remained seated at her desk, staring him down with those sharp, brown eyes.

Peter reached back into his mind and tried to grasp his excess soul, but there was a wall blocking him. Something was dividing him and his talent. Peter lifted his gaze and saw the victory flash in Tekla's sharp eyes.

"Ah," said Peter. "So that's how you did it."

"Did what?"

"You can block off someone's access to their excess soul," said Peter. "That's your talent. So when Dietrich Aegon tried to find the soul path of Alissa Evjen-Leandre's killer—there was no soul path to follow."

Tekla kept her proud eyes fixed on Peter's face. She was concentrating, of course. Peter was one of the strongest chimeras alive. There was no way she could hold back his excess soul without strenuous effort. A sheen of sweat formed across her brown and her breathing was heavy.

"Ragnvold," gasped Tekla, speaking to the burly man.

Peter glanced over at Ragnvold. The man gently handed the petite woman over to their companion and then got to his feet. Ragnvold's dark eyes flashed. A wooden chair on the other side of the office hurtled towards Peter.

Peter's first instinct was to lash out with his talent—but, of course, Tekla kept a firm wall between Peter and his well of power. Peter managed to avoid the metal chair at the last second. But the chair changed direction mid-flight and spun around to slam into Peter's right shoulder. Peter nearly lost his balance. It was by pure stubbornness that he managed to stay on his feet.

Fuck, he should've brought a gun.

Peter was pissed. This was supposed to be his game—not Tekla's. And certainly not Ragnvold's.

Peter dodged the chair and reached back into the darkness behind his mind. He met the unseen wall once again. He felt a bursting heat rise in his chest. He body raged against the idea that Tekla Valden was trying to deny him who he was. He was a chimera. That was his power, his soul.

The chair rocketed towards him again and Peter quickly side-stepped it.

His head was starting to split with pain. The front of his skull felt stretched and thin, as if a great pressure was building up inside, dying to break free.

Ragnvold tried to strike Peter again. The desk lifted from the ground and flew toward Peter. This time, he didn't even bother to dodge.

The pressure had built to bursting point and the wall Tekla had formed couldn't hold any longer. Peter pulled and his excess soul responded.

Like a tidal wave, it broke through the unseen wall and Peter lashed out in all directions. The desk was sliced into a thousand fragments and the table fell to pieces. The scrawny man threw himself in front of the woman to protect her from the hundreds of unseen blades that flew through the room. Ragnvold howled as his skin was ripped and shredded. Tekla Valden shrieked as her body was cut through by Peter's blades. Small cuts formed across her arms, face, neck, legs, torso, like dripping, red spider webs. Her jacket was dyed bright red and her whole body was trembling in agony.

When the wave of excess soul had passed, Peter was the lone standing figure in the room. He was surrounded by two bloodied corpses, a whimpering woman with a bleeding shoulder, and a half-dead Tekla Valden.

She was slouched over in the chair, barely managing to keep herself from collapsing to the floor in a heap. Her sharp eyes brimmed with hatred as she struggled to focus on Peter's face.

Peter smiled.

In one clear slice, his excess soul shot through the air and cut her clean through. Tekla's body convulsed and then gave in on itself. She landed on the floor with a heavy thud.

Peter turned away from Tekla and moved to the one living person left in the room, the petite woman. He crouched down in front of her so that they were eye-level. She started to tremble violently, but Peter only said," I can kill you."

She released a low, pitiful moan.

"Will you deliver a message from the Cadmus for me?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"Stay the fuck away from us and ours."

Peter glanced over his shoulder at the figure of Simeon, crouching behind the doorway of the waiting room. It'd take only a second to deal with him. Another second, another life. All for the sake of the Cadmus.

* * *

**Review?**


	9. The Warning

**9. The Warning**

**40 Day of Spring, 1288**

* * *

**One**

"How do you like your eggs?"

Dietrich regretted the question the moment he asked it.

"I don't know. I've never tried eggs before." Dani leaned forward on her stool, bubbling with excitement. "Over-easy? Poached? Sunny-side up? Can I have them all?"

Dietrich sighed as he removed the carton of eggs from the fridge. "I'm not making all of them. How about scrambled?"

"No."

Her voice was hard and clipped. Dietrich glanced over his shoulder and saw that she had that look in her blue eyes, the look she sometimes got when she remembered Allison or her father. All the excitement had drained out of her in an instant and all that remained was cold hate.

"Personally," said Dietrich. "I like sunny side-up. How about I make that today and then the next time you decide to drop by and surprise me for breakfast, I'll try another style."

Dani pulled herself out of her reverie and grinned at him. "Okay."

Dietrich grabbed a pan from one of his lower cupboard and turned on the stove. "So what caused you to barge into my house today?"

"Your sister tried to murder me."

Dietrich cracked one egg on the side of the counter and, careful not to let any eggshell fall, spilled the egg into the pan. The once-clear liquid started to sizzle and fry, turning white.

In his mind, he ran through a list of his sisters and tried to figure out which one had a grudge against Allison or Dani Tveit. Elena was two seasons pregnant and had little time for grudges. Magda was the sweetest soul he ever knew and spent too much time researching to care about Dani Tveit. Clare—well, if one of his sister were to try to murder someone, it would be Clare.

"I have lots of sisters. You'll have to be more specific."

"Sascha Aegon."

"You mean half-sister."

Up until that moment, Dietrich had completely forgotten about his father's demand for Allison Tveit assassination. In his mind, Dietrich had already replaced Allison's existence with Dani's—and, of course, his father hadn't ordered Sascha to kill Dani Tveit.

"Oh shit."

Dani's eyes narrowed. "Something you didn't tell me?"

"I forgot," said Dietrich, honestly. "The order was given several days ago and I've been a bit preoccupied with work. Don't worry about it. I'll deal with Sascha." He glanced over his shoulder Dani was perched on the edge of her barstool, watching him carefully. Dietrich shrugged. "Sascha's usually successful with her assignments. How'd you avoid her?"

"I recognized her. Allison had met her before, but I don't think either one of them remembered."

"But you remembered."

Dani snorted. "I'm not stupid."

Dietrich raised his eyebrows, but only said, "Your egg is done."

"I saw that look," said Dani. "Don't give me that look."

"Can you grab two plates? They're in that cupboard." He nodded his head to indicate which one.

"You get them."

"Excuse me? I'm making you breakfast. The least you can do is get plates."

When she didn't move, Dietrich lifted the pan off the stove and turned to stare at her. "Or I can dump your egg on the ground and you can eat off the floor."

Dani glared at him, but she slid off her stool and went to the cupboard. Using a spatula, Dietrich pushed the egg from the pan into her plate. Dani muttered something that resembled a thanks and even went to get her own knife and fork from the silverware drawer. She settled down at the island to eat her eggs, while Dietrich started cooking his own breakfast. The eggs had just started to sizzle when the front door flew open and Knute—his left eye still black and blue—came in.

"What happened to you?" asked Dani through a mouthful of eggs.

"What?" Knute looked from Dani and Dietrich and back again.

"You look like shit." Dani pointed to her own eyes.

"Oh this? I got this from Raoul Leandre." Knute waved away Dani's comment as he joined her at the island. "I met with Caarina yesterday. And she took me to this bookstore in the Riverend District where they were interviewing potential members."

"And you had to fight for your life to prove you were worthy of joining Those Who Name Themselves?" Dani grinned. "Requirements have gotten strict."

Knute scowled at her. "I fought Raoul Leandre in a bar fight and won. That's where I got the black eye."

"An unarmed Raoul Leandre," added Dietrich, which caused Dani to laugh maniacally. Dietrich switched off the stove, picked up the pan of the now-cooked eggs, and pushed them onto the second plate Dani had brought him. "Carry on, Knute."

"Well, Caarina brought me into the basement where was this bird-like woman started asking me questions. They actually researched me and I had to start lying on the spot when she started asking about my disappearance from my family."

"Did she buy it?" asked Dietrich.

"When I started insulting the Houses, she was willing to listen to whatever I had to say."

Dani snorted.

"Eat your eggs." Dietrich turned back to Knute. "Go on."

"And then she told Caarina to find me a sect."

Dietrich blinked. "You're in?"

A wide grin spread across Knute's face and he nodded. "I'm in. Caarina will contact me in a couple days and introduce me to my sect."

Dietrich swallowed a mouthful of egg. "Good job."

"That was easier than expected," muttered Dani.

Knute shot her a contemptuous glare. "Speak for yourself."

"Well, I was surviving an assassination attempt yesterday, so I think you got the easier side of the deal."

"Someone tried to kill you?" Knute sounded a little too pleased by the prospect.

Dietrich sighed, getting ready to put an end to yet another argument, when his cellphone started ringing. Both Dani and Knute stopped glowering at one another and turned to stare at the black smartphone sitting on the island counter.

"Clare's calling you," said Dani, examining the caller ID.

Dietrich glanced down at the photo of a grinning, red-haired Clare, which had been taken during one of their sibling hangouts. He pressed the green button and held the phone up to his ear. "What's up? I'm working at the moment."

The silvery voice of Clare Aegon filled his ear. "I know something that you want to know."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Dietrich said, "Is it something you shouldn't know?"

"Of course."

"Did Adam tell you?"

"Now why would he do that?"

Dietrich glanced across the island, where both Dani and Knute were trying to listen in on his conversation. With a sigh, he held the finger up to his lips, indicating the need for silence, and he switched the call to speakerphone.

Leaning forward, Dietrich said, "I'm right, aren't I?"

"Fine," said Clare. "Adam arrived first on scene, but the Cadmus chimera got there right after and hushed the whole thing up."

"Hush what up?"

"Adam answered a call about disturbing noises coming from an abandoned fire department in the South District. When he showed up to investigate, he found four corpses with numerous blade wounds on their bodies. Not ten minutes later, Erica and Finlay Cadmus show up and kick out Adam. But Adam checked the police report this morning, according to Erica and Finlay Cadmus the four deceased, Ragnvold Dolby, Jarle Joakim, Simeon Tenne, and Tekla Valden, were attacked and killed by drug dealers."

Across the island, Dani's eyes widened. Dietrich shot her a sharp look, but Dani shook her head and nodded to the phone. Dietrich watched her for a second longer, wondering what had caught her attention.

"The Cadmus really should keep Peter Oswalk on a tighter leash," said Clare.

"Or maybe the leash was the reason Peter Oswalk was at the fire department," said Dietrich grimly.

He could practically hear Clare thinking through the phone.

"But why would the Cadmus want four people from the South District dead?"

Dietrich didn't answer. Dani's gaze was fixed on the cellphone, but she wasn't seeing it. A shadow flickered behind her blue eyes, as if she was recalling something far away.

"Dietrich?"

"Sorry." He tore his eyes away from Dani and sighed at the cellphone. "Adam shouldn't tell you about official police reports."

"It's a learning experience," said Clare. "Alright, I'll let you get back to work." She paused, as if listening to someone over her shoulder. "Magda says 'hi.'"

"Tell her I say 'hi' back. See you."

"Bye."

Dietrich hung up first. The second Clare's caller ID had disappeared from the cellphone screen, he turned to Dani and said, "What is it?"

"Tekla Valden was one of the founders of the Self-Named."

Knute nearly fell off his stool. "Peter Oswalk killed one of the founders of the Self-Named? Do you think it was a coincidence?"

"No," said Dani bluntly.

"The Cadmus know about the existence of the Self-Named now." Dietrich frowned. The image of Peter Oswalk standing in the stairwell of the law offices, examining Alissa Evjen-Leandre's bloodied corpse, came to mind. Peter had been the first one there, the first one to interview Phillip Cadmus and the first one to look at the security footage. Did Dietrich trust Peter not to tamper with evidence? No. Of course not. Which meant Peter might have found something at the crime scene and failed to share it with Sabine and Dietrich.

"Fucking Peter Oswalk," said Dietrich, shaking his head.

"I'll say," muttered Knute. "Thank the Ancestor, he went to the South District and not the Riverend District."

Dani grinned. "Is someone afraid of the big, bad Peter Oswalk."

"Actually, you should say 'little, bad Peter Oswalk,'" muttered Dietrich.

"It's easier for you guys to talk about these things," said Knute. "You realize that the Cadmus will be after the Self-Named now—and I'm a part of them.

"Believe me," said Dani. "I would love to be in your position—and I'd be doing it lot better than you too. But unfortunately, I'm Allison Tveit, the Cadmus's little pet."

Dietrich sighed. "Don't goad him, Dani. Knute, I trust that you're strong enough to survive any attacks from the Cadmus or any other House that comes calling. However, if you're really that disturbed by the involvement of the Cadmus, I can release you from your contract with the Aegon and you can return to your family in the slums."

Dietrich watched the surprise flash over Knute's face and felt a twist of satisfaction in his gut. He watched as Knute quickly backtracked his words.

"Not like that," said Knute. "Of course I'll keep going with the investigation."

"Good." Dietrich glanced across the island, expecting Dani's face to reveal the same smugness he felt, but Dani wasn't even paying attention to their conversation.

"I need to talk to Peter Oswalk," said Dani abruptly.

"Why?" Dietrich wasn't sure if she was saying that she would persuade Peter Oswalk to stop dealing with the Self-Named or that she would just kill him to solve the issue all together. Maybe she was saying something entirely different. It was hard to tell with Dani.

Dani appeared not to hear him. She drummed her fingers against the marble counter and added, "I also need to deal with the Raoul and Sabine Leandre."

"What happened with Raoul and Sabine Leandre?" asked Dietrich. He'd been hearing Raoul's name a lot recently.

"They're trying to convert me—Allison—to the Leandre."

"Why?" asked Knute.

"So that's why Sabine invited you to lunch yesterday," said Dietrich. "Sascha was bold to try and kill you right in front of Sabine. Though I don't think they've ever met before."

"She probably hoped that if I died at lunch with Sabine, the Cadmus would start investigating the Leandre."

"She failed though," said Dietrich. "And if anyone else had recognized her, she would've submitted the Aegon to investigation by both the Cadmus and the Leandre."

Dietrich pushed the last of his eggs around the plate with his fork. What did Dani want with Peter Oswalk? And what was she planning to do about Raoul and Sabine Leandre? And what was Dietrich going to do about Sascha? He couldn't very well tell her that Allison was working with him now. If it had been one of Dietrich's full-blooded siblings, he could have told them to stay out of his business and they would've, but Sascha hated to be kept out of the loop. She'd tail him and ask questions until she found out the truth. It was hard enough for Dani and Knute to sneak onto the Aegon grounds and into his house with anyone watching him. There was no way these visits would be possible if Sascha was suspicious.

Dietrich's thoughts were interrupted by Knute's upbeat voice saying, "So why does everyone else have eggs? Where's my breakfast? And my coffee? Don't you always have coffee, Dietrich?"

Running his fingers through his hair, Dietrich said, "After this is over, I never want houseguests again. I'll put the coffee on. Dani, put your plate in the dishwasher."

"Why can't you?" asked Dani.

"Because you are staying at my house, and the least you can do is put your plate in the dishwasher."

Dani stared at Dietrich for a moment, an internal debate running behind her blue eyes. Then, she picked up her dirty plate, walked around the island, and placed the plate in the dishwasher.

"Happy now?" she asked, glowering at Dietrich.

"Yes."

"How come she does that for you?" asked Knute. "When I ask her to do something, she threatens to kill me."

Dani grinned. "It's the red hair. Girls always go for the red hair."

* * *

**Two**

Nathaniel stared at the pages of numbers on his computer and debated drowning himself in the Cadmus swimming pool. Four days ago, Nathaniel had begun his job managing the Cadmus's finances with Gerard Cadmus.

Gerard Cadmus was technically the brother of the sister-in-law of Nathaniel's father, but for the most part, Nathaniel just called Gerard "uncle". Gerard had never been and would never be the life of the party. He was in his mid-fifties with pinched and drawn features. His blue eyes were surrounded by a web of wrinkles and his blond hair was intertwined with gray. Even though he spent his days surrounded by numbers in a miniscule office on the fourth floor of the Cadmus Mansion, Gerard wore nothing but gray, three-piece suits.

Being confined to a desk and surrounded by accounting books was not even remotely interesting to Nathaniel. But, of course, he had to serve the Cadmus in some way or another-even if he hated his job with every fiber of his being.

"Have you finished yet?" asked Gerard from the other side of the room.

Nathaniel glanced down at the list of accounts he had to check and then shook his head. He wasn't even halfway.

Gerard grunted before leaning forward and inspecting the computer screen in front of him.

Nathaniel glanced at the computer screen and then back down at the book. The Cadmus had one collective account, known as the Master Account, to which the salaries of all working Cadmus members was deposited. As far as Nathaniel knew, the other two Houses managed their finances in similar ways. Every thirty days, spending allowances were transferred from the Master Account to the accounts of each Cadmus member. The Cadmus had nine-hundred-and-twenty-two members as of three days ago when Christine Cadmus gave birth to her daughter, Abigail.

Of course, Cadmus members didn't get their own accounts until they became legal adults. The only exception were children adopted by the Cadmus. Nathaniel remembered being jealous growing up because Allison had her own account, while Nathaniel had to rely on his parents for spending money.

Nathaniel sighed as he scrolled through the computer document. Allowances had been deposited four days ago, so Nathaniel had been given the oh-so-exciting task of randomly checking the credit card bills of the various Cadmus members to make sure there was no suspicious activity going on.

"You find anything interesting?" Gerard was hunched over his keyboard, watching Nathaniel.

"No. Am I supposed to?" asked Nathaniel, clicking out of Neal Cadmus' account file.

Gerard raised his eyebrows. "Jacob visits the Red Light District once every other cycle—you should know just in case you ever need a favor from him."

"Ah." Nathaniel turned his attention back to his computer and opened up Janne Trygg-Cadmus' file. "Is that why you enjoy this job so much?"

Gerard shrugged. "Everyone thinks I'm stuffy for spending my time in this office. But they don't realize who has the real power in the end." He gave Nathaniel a crooked file. "How do you think the Head found out about the deposit on your college application?"

Nathaniel's chest grew tight. "That was you?"

"One of my students, actually," said Gerard. "After their mathematics lessons, I have the older Cadmus children help out. They should be put to some good use."

Nathaniel gritted his teeth. Part of him wanted to throw his computer at Gerard's head, but another part of him, the more rational part, said that it'd do no good—even if it'd make Nathaniel feel better. In the end, it was his fault he'd been caught. He should've known Gerard would check his credit card bills and paid the deposit in cash instead.

Releasing an agonizing sigh, he leaned back in his office chair and surveyed the list of numbers in front of him.

Sometimes, Nathaniel envied Allison. Yes, Allison had lost her parents at a young age. Yes, Allison had been put through rigorous training. Yes, Allison had been confined to the Cadmus Mansion. Allison. But it would all pay off in the end. Allison would be the Lady of the Cadmus one day and she could do whatever she wished, go wherever she wish, be whomever she wished. The same couldn't be said for Nathaniel. Ten years, twenty years in the future, Nathaniel would still be cramped in this little office, staring at numbers and gossiping about members of the Cadmus.

"Are you working?" asked Gerard, not looking up from his computer screen. "I don't hear keys tapping or the mouse clicking."

"Stretching." Nathaniel leaned back in his chair and extended his arms over his head. He even threw in a yawn for good measure.

Gerard grunted his disapproval and then quickly forgot about Nathaniel's existence.

Nathaniel took advantage of the momentary reprieve to stare out the floor-to-ceiling window to the right of his desk. If he tilted his head at the right angle, he could see the swimming pool. It rested on the Cadmus grounds beneath a fat, oak tree. A metal fence surrounded tiled area, in which there was a lap-sized pool, complete with a diving board and slide. The surface of the water rippled as someone swam laps. The figure caught hold of the pool edge and lifted his head from the water. Nathaniel squinted and realized that the dripping brown hair and wide grin belonged to none other than Peter Oswalk.

But who was Peter Oswalk grinning at?

A second figure—this one female—stepped closer to the edge of the pool and into the view of the window. Her back was turned to Nathaniel, but even if he couldn't see her face, Nathaniel recognized the slender shoulders and white-blonde hair. She was wearing blue short and a black sweater, which meant she wasn't at the pool for swimming. But what could Allison Tveit want with Peter Oswalk?

Nathaniel frowned. He and Allison had always tried to keep interactions with Peter to a minimum. He'd always reminded Nathaniel of a wild dog that the Head kept on too long a leash. Allison had agreed.

And yet, there she was, in full view of the Cadmus Mansion, conversing with Peter Oswalk. Didn't she see the way Peter was grinning at her? He looked at her like she was some toy to be played with when the time was right. Perhaps the revelation of her Tasking Number had gone to her head, and Allison now considered herself strong enough to deal with Peter on an equal level.

Nathaniel shook his head.

That was stupid. Allison wasn't that stupid.

There was a cough from the other side of the room, and Nathaniel spun around to see Gerard watching him.

"Those accounts won't check themselves."

"I, um, of course." Nathaniel scanned over Janne Trygg-Cadmus' file. It was only when he was certain that Gerard was no longer looking that Nathaniel dared glance at the swimming pool again, but, of course, Allison was gone.

* * *

**Three**

On every day that he wasn't killing people for Head Louisa, Peter Oswalk swam laps. Other members of the Cadmus—Robert, Margaret, Sarah, Phillip—preferred to use the indoor gym, but, Peter had always found running on a treadmill or lifting weights to be dull in comparison to the feel of cool water and fresh air.

Sleek and swift, Peter slid his arms into the water and propelled himself forward. His legs moved up and down pushing him towards the other end. Through his goggles, Peter could see the dark blue line of the lane markers on the floor of the pool. The water turned a shade darker as a cloud passed over the sun. He reached the end of the pool and executed a quick turn underwater, pushing off the wall. As he resurfaced for a breath of air, Peter caught sight of a blond figure standing at the other end of the pool.

Peter slowed his stroke rate as he ran through the list of blond-haired people who would want to talk to him but also had the nerve to interrupt his workout. There was Head Louisa—but he had reported to her that morning; there was no reason for her to talk to him again. Phillip Cadmus was far too busy to show up in person. He'd send someone else to find Peter and request an audience. Robert Cadmus was a possibility—the man didn't have enough brains to be scared. However, the blond figure had been small and skinnier than Robert. The only other possibility was Sarah Cadmus, but she would never lower herself to find Peter.

Peter's fingers touched the edge of the pool and he lifted his head from the water, taking in a breath of air. He pulled the goggles away from his eyes and slid them onto his forehead, brushing his dripping hair out of his face in the process.

Allison Tveit stood over him, her arms folded over her chest and a mocking smile on her lips.

Peter didn't even bother to mask his surprise. Allison Tveit had always been afraid of him, going out of her way to avoid them if they ever passed in the hall. She must've been desperate to seek him out on her own.

"I never understood the appeal of swimming," said Allison. "What's so exciting about water?"

Peter tilted his head to the side, questioningly. "You and Nathaniel used to swim all the time."

Allison's smile disappeared, but she only said, "I always assumed that the only reason for swimming is so people can wear revealing clothes without embarrassment."

"That might be part of the reason." Peter glanced down at where the water lapped against his bare chest. Then, he looked up at Allison and grinned. "Am I making you self-conscious?"

"Actually, I'm wondering if I can burn you to death while you're in a swimming pool. It would make for an interesting experiment, wouldn't it?"

"It certainly would," said Peter. "But you're going to have to try and different test subject. I'm not in the mood for dying."

"Shame."

Peter gripped the edges of the pool and hauled himself up out of the water. He turned so that he sat on the edge of the pool just a couple feet away from Allison, who was staring down at him disdainfully.

"You've changed," said Peter.

"Have I?"

"And they call me a mad dog."

"You are a mad dog," said Allison. "I'm just madder."

Peter got to his feet. Water dripped from his body, forming a puddle at his feet. Allison stood in front of him, completely dry. There was little more than an inch height difference between them, but Peter was relieved to be the taller one. There weren't many people he could look down at.

"What do you want?" asked Peter.

"Stay out of my business."

Peter cocked one eyebrow. "I wasn't aware that I was in it."

"You killed Tekla Valden. I had business with Tekla Valden, an, thanks to you, that business will forever be incomplete. I'm not happy with you right now, and if I were you, I wouldn't be standing there smiling and making jokes. You see, if I wanted to, I could make you fall to your knees in front of me, writhing and screaming for mercy. Lucky for you, killing you is not in my best interests. Instead, I'm here to give you a message. Don't touch any of the leaders of Those Who Name Themselves. I need them alive. If you interrupt my business again, I will kill you in the most painful way you can imagine."

There was no hesitation in her eyes; she met Peter's gaze without wavering. She spoke with the cold, hard truth. If he did not do as she said, she would kill him. Simple and easy.

Peter resisted the urge to smile. Oh, she would try to kill him—it just wouldn't be as easy as she thought.

"What's your name?" he asked.

Her mask slipped for the briefest second, revealing a flash of surprise, but then, as quickly as it had disappeared, the cold, ruthless expression returned.

"Are you stupid? My name is Allison Tveit. You've known me since I was six."

"You're Allison, no doubt. The same blonde hair, the same blue eyes. And you're still shorter than me." As he spoke, Peter stepped around her and scooped his towel off a beige lawn chair. "But you're most definitely not the Allison I've known for seventeen years." He dried off his chest and shoulders with the towel. "It seems like such a shame to call you by the same name as innocent, sweet Allison."

Peter waited for Allison to say something, give him a name, but her mouth remained shut.

"All right then. I've decided." Peter grinned. "I'm going to call you Maddie—it's short for 'Madder Dog Than Me.'"

Allison's eyes narrowed. "Don't you dare call me that."

Peter wrapped the towel around his waist. "Only in private, Maddie. We don't want to make the Head suspicious, do we?" His smile widened and shook his head in mock disappointment. "You need to work on your acting abilities."

Allison's face was slowly becoming contorted with rage. Finally, she said, "My name is Dani. And I don't need to act."

Peter watched her walk away, unable to contain his laughter.

* * *

**Four**

Michael Cadmus was alone with his future wife for the first time since their engagement, and she was on the verge of crying.

When Michael had accepted Allison's request to visit him, he'd assumed that she wanted to invite him to dinner, get to know him before the wedding date was set. But now that he sat on his sitting room sofa and stared up at the petite, puffy-eyed woman, Michael realized that Allison might have met him simply so she could ask him to break off the engagement.

Well, he'd always known that she'd prefer to marry Nathaniel. It was common knowledge that Allison Tveit and Nathaniel Cadmus were childhood friends. They'd played in the gardens together while Michael spent his time in doors, honing his abilities as a chimera and studying whatever his parents required. Allison had probably counted on Nathaniel being the Cadmus heir—what a shock it must've been when Head Louisa had said Michael's name instead. Michael fought back a scowl. If Allison asked for an end to the engagement, Michael wouldn't give it to her. He'd worked too hard for too long to give up his rewards just like that.

"How can I help you?" Michael didn't even try to sound sympathetic.

Allison wiped the brewing tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. "I had lunch yesterday with Sabine Leandre."

"I know," said Michael. The whole world knew.

Managed to regain some composure as she said, "Raoul and Sabine Leandre are trying to convince me to join them."

Michael's eyebrows shot up. "They want you to join the Leandre?"

"I was told—" She swallowed back her words and then tried again, "I wanted to tell you first. They wanted me to join the Leandre, but I'm loyal to the Cadmus. I only want what's best for the Cadmus, so I want you to be careful—because the Leandre are trying to steal from the Cadmus."

Michael stared at Allison. She looked like a waif with her arms tucked behind her back and her blue eyes turning red around the edges. Her sky-blue shorts showed off too much of her legs and her black sweater clung to her hips. She seemed out of place amongst the leather five-piece sofa, marble serpent sculptures, and hand-crafted rug of the expensive sitting room. Her eyes kept darting from one side to the other as if she was afraid that one of the statues might come to life and bite her.

"You can sit," said Michael.

"Oh. Uh, thanks." Allison stiffly lowered herself onto the loveseat, as far away from Michael as she could manage.

"Why come to me?" asked Michael. "Why not the Head?"

Allison swallowed. Michael could practically see the question rolling around in her head. Then, as she discovered an answer, a light came to Allison's eyes and she rested her hands on her knees. "Because you are the heir. You will one day be the Head of the Cadmus. Going to you is the same as going to the Head."

A smile twitched on Michael's face. It was nice to know that his future wife was not completely stupid. She understood how to answer a question with flattery as well as reason. She just had to learn to be less obvious.

Michael leaned back into the couch cushions and said, almost lazily, "I'll deal with it. The Leandre won't bother you anymore."

A look of relief flashed across Allison's face and her shoulder relaxed a little. "Thanks."

"Are you alright with this?" asked Michael, unable to stop the question.

Allison blinked. "Alright with what?"

"Marriage."

Allison bit her bottom lip. "I always expected to marry you or Nathaniel. But now it seems obvious that I was always going to marry you."

A wave of relief wash over Michael. So she wasn't going to ask him to cancel the engagement. In fact, she had already accepted him as the heir. Michael had to suppress his sigh of relief. There were worse people to marry.

Allison didn't seem to be thinking along the same lines of Michael. She was staring at an ornate, white-stone sculpture of two serpents curling around the arm of a young man dressed in a long coat, a tunic, and sandals. The man was carved from travertine marble, so there was no coloring to his features, but Michael knew him to be blond-haired and blue-eyed. As the serpents slithered up the man's arms to his chest, there was an air of triumph about the young man—a wicked glint to his gaze that seemed out of place on a somber, stone stature.

"The original Cadmus," said Michael.

"I know." Allison's eyes remained fixed on the stone man. "I don't have any statues in my living quarters."

"My mother loves statues. She insisted on decorating when I got my own living space."

A wry smile crossed Allison's face. "He sort of looks like you."

Michael surveyed the statue. He very much doubted it. The young man had a rounder face, a smaller nose, and a slimmer build than Michael. Cadmus seemed almost feminine in the smooth marble. Other than the hair, the eyes, and maybe the chin, Michael's appearance had been polluted by the Nameless chimera that appeared in his family tree.

"He looks more like you," said Michael.

"I'm a Nameless."

"You have blonde hair and blue eyes," said Michael, leaning back on the couch. "I'm certain you have a long-dead relative who did possess the surname 'Cadmus.'"

"There's no proof," said Allison softly. "The Head tried."

Michael shrugged. "Do we need proof?"

"It had to have been on my mother's side," said Allison. "My father showed me photos. I look a lot like her." It seemed as though Allison was on the verge oftears again. "Even if she was of the People, she was blonde. My father was a Nameless chimera like me, but he had brown hair and brown eyes."

Michael didn't know what to say to that so he said nothing at all.

Allison never noticed Michael's silence. She was still staring at the smirking statue of Cadmus.

"He looks like my sister," said Allison softly.

"You have a sister?"

Allison's eyes widened in alarm. She turned to Michael, blinking rapidly, before relaxing and smiling. "We should have dinner some time. I'd like to get to know my fiancé before we marry."

Michael watched her for a moment, wondering if she was going to explain the sister comment. But Allison continued to smile at him politely, waiting for a response, so Michael said, "Of course."

* * *

**Five**

Allison stared at the woman in the bathroom mirror. Her eyes were puffy and bags had formed under her eyes, exaggerated by her smudged eyeliner. She couldn't believe she'd appeared before Michael looking like that. But what choice did she have?

Her hands gripped the white, marble counter. "You can see me, right?"

What did Dani think when she look at the woman in the mirror? Did she see a pale, tear-stained face? Or did she see a strong woman with bright, blue eyes? Or, like Allison, did she sometimes look in the mirror and wonder which twin was staring back?

Allison felt her knees start to shake. Desperate to keep herself upright, Allison stepped away from the sink. The granite floor tiles felt cool against her bare feet, but Allison barely noticed as she wrenched open the glass shower door and switched on the hot water. She yanked her sweater over her head and threw it into the laundry basket. Off came her shorts, her bra, and her underwear until she stood naked in front of the mirror.

Her breathing came in short, sharp gasps as she tried to reign in another crying fit.

She really did resemble the Cadmus depicted in stone. The same upturned nose, the same round eyes, the same oval face—no. She didn't resemble the Cadmus at all. Dani resembled the Cadmus. Allison was nothing more than a parasite.

Steam was rising from the shower now and Allison tore her wet eyes away from the mirror. She stepped into the double-headed shower and felt the scalding water pelt her skin. Allison closed her eyes and enjoyed the purifying sensation. Her tears were washed away and, for a blissful moment, she allowed her mind to be empty.

"Can you hear me?" Her voice was inaudible over the roar of the shower. "I told Michael about the Leandre, so don't hurt Thom. He has nothing to do with this. I left him behind when I became engaged to Michael. I chose the Cadmus over him. He has nothing to do with this."

Her legs couldn't hold her up anymore and she knelt on the floor of the shower, not even bothering to hold back her sobs anymore.

Had it all been a lie? Her father cooking dinner for her in a frilly apron. Uncle Niklas holding her in the pool because she didn't know how to swim. Aunt Tekla teaching her how to play ratslap Uncle Josef reclined in an armchair, reading the newspaper. Lord Johnathan giving a tour of her bedroom in the Cadmus Mansion. Head Louisa shedding silent tears at her husband's funeral pyre. Nathaniel falling asleep during history lessons. Adrianna crying at late night chick flicks. Thom grinning when he took her order at the coffee shop. Nathaniel spitting his hot chocolate everywhere when he heard Allison had a date with one of the People. The excited feeling in her stomach when she became a legal adult. Were all these memories a lie? Had she really been living someone else's life all this time?

Her chest heaved up and down as she let the tears flow. Her throat ached and her head was spinning; she didn't even notice the hot water pouring over her head and back.

She didn't want to die. She didn't want to be replaced by her sister. Maybe Dani was telling the truth, maybe their father had transferred Allison soul to Dani's body—but that didn't mean that Allison didn't deserve a life. There was so much left to do. She wanted to marry Michael, she wanted to have his heirs, she wanted to become the Lady of the Cadmus, she wanted to see her House rise above the others, and she wanted to die of old age. Who was Dani to take all this away from her?

Allison cradled her head in her arms as her sobs were reduced to whimpers.

Wasn't she pathetic? Was this really all she could do to protect Thom and the Cadmus? There had to be some way to restrain Dani, some way to stop her, some way to keep the body.

Keep looking, Allison reminded herself. Keep waiting and watching and doing whatever Dani said. Eventually, Dani will reveal her weakness, and Allison could tell the Cadmus everything. She just had to be patient.

* * *

**Six**

Sascha Aegon gulped down the remaining contents of her whisky glass and then cried, "How did she recognize me?"

"I don't know." Christoph was stretched out on the sofa, lazily flipping through television channels. "Perhaps you two met before, and you forgot while she remembered."

"Fuck." Sascha hopped onto the couch, crossing her legs over Christoph's. "I had everything planned. The moment I saw that she was having lunch with Lady Sabine Leandre, I realized how perfect it could be. You know I like to keep a low profile amongst the other Houses—it's never helpful for an errand girl to have a recognizable face—so Raoul and Sabine Leandre don't know what I look like, and I _know_ Allison Tveit has never seen me before. I borrowed a waitressing outfit from their backroom, I served her iced tea with cassaverre in it, and then I changed back to my normal clothes and flirted with some random guy to avoid suspicion." Sascha bit her bottom lip. "So how did she know?"

"Maybe there's more to Allison Tveit than we know." Christoph turned away from the television and wriggled his legs, which were pinned under Sascha.

She scowled at the uncomfortable feeling and poked his thigh. "Stop that."

Christoph grinned. "Make me."

He reached up and wrapped an arm around Sascha's waist. Their mouths met, and he carefully worked her lips open as he pulled her down to a horizontal position.

"I'm not in the mood," snapped Sascha, tearing her mouth away from his. "Father's going to be pissed at me."

"It was a mistake. No one has even reported that someone tried to assassinate Allison Tveit. All anyone's heard about their lunch at the Palace Café was that sudden Allison Tveit spat iced tea all over her salad, sprinted from the restaurant, and burned anyone who tried to prevent her from leaving. There's no mention of you, murder, or poison. No one in the Aegon knows about your little mistake except you and me."

"But why?" asked Sascha. "Why hasn't Allison told anyone?"

"Your guess is as good as mine."

Sascha stared down at her half-brother. He was watching her expectantly, his large hands resting on either side of her waist.

While almost all of Head Theodore Aegon's children had inherited his black eyes, only a few of them had the same intense stare: Christoph, Dietrich, and—or at least she liked to think—herself.

Finally, Sascha let her fears slip to the back of her mind and she leaned forward to press her lips to Christoph's. He immediately responded, wrapping his arms tightly around her and running his hands up and down her back. Heat spread through Sascha's body as Christoph's kisses moved from her mouth to her jaw to her neck. He nipped at her throat, causing Sascha to giggle. Christoph sudden rolled over, reserving their positions on the couch so that Sascha was pinned beneath him—which would have been a nice change if Sascha hadn't bumped the back of her head on the armrest.

Not for the first time, Sascha wished they could use a proper bed, but of course, their secret meetings were restricted a locked room in the basement of the Aegon Mansion. They'd been dating for over a year and she had long ago had her fill of neck cricks and carpet burn.

As he continued to work at her neck, licking and biting and kissing, Christoph slid his hand up Sascha's back, under her shirt. She shivered at the warmth of his fingertips and wriggled in delight. Her shirt rode up with Christoph's hand, leaving her stomach exposed. Sascha thought she might've heard a door open, but she quickly forgot about it as Christoph sucked on her collarbone and her fingers tangled themselves in his coal-black hair.

"You've lost your touch, Sascha, if you think you can keep secrets from me."

The sound of Dietrich Aegon's smooth voice sent Christoph flying. He away from Sascha, falling onto the floor in his rush. Sascha pulled her shirt down but felt none of the Christoph's panic. Dietrich, his bright, red hair even redder in the white light of the room, leaned against the door of the meeting room. A door that Sascha could have sworn she'd locked not fifteen minutes earlier.

Sascha scowled. "What are you doing here?"

"How did you find us?" asked Christoph, getting to his feet and trying to regain some shred of dignity as he smoothed down his ruffled hair.

Dietrich pointed to his eyes since that that was answer enough. "I need you to do something for me, Sascha."

Sascha stared at him. Dietrich had interrupted her time with Christoph to ask her for a favor? That wasn't like Dietrich. She'd known him since childhood, when Dietrich hadn't been able to control his talent and his eyes saw the secrets of everyone in the Aegon. Even though the members of the Aegon were aware of the power he had over them, Dietrich had always respected people's secrets—especially hers. So why was he interrupting her and Christoph now? Why not wait until they were finished?

Sascha took a deep breath. "What is it, Dietrich?"

"Leave Allison Tveit alone."

Sascha blinked. She expected Dietrich to make some kind of joke. But, of course, Dietrich didn't joke about such things. His black eyes met Sascha's with controlled intensity, waiting for her to agree.

Sascha reached into her well of power and drew out some of her excess soul. She let it filled the room around her, and soon her vision started to color with emotions. The pastel-green of disgust and the burnt-orange of confusion draped over Christoph like cobwebs, and Sascha was sure that she had similar colors around her. Her gaze fixated on Dietrich, but she saw only that only navy-blue resolution surrounded him like an immovable wall.

The image of the blue-eyed woman sitting opposite Sabine Leandre in the Palace Café flashed through Sascha's mind, and she felt a flash of crimson irritation towards Allison Tveit, but that irritation quickly transformed to confusion as she stared at Dietrich.

"Father told me to take care of Allison Tveit and I mean to." Sascha frowned. "Why do you care about what happens to her?"

Amber guilt appeared at the edges of Dietrich's blue resolution, but the emotion disappeared as quickly as it came. "I have business with Allison Tveit that involves the murder of Hendrik Aegon. My business is more important than yours."

"If Father wants me to stop my work then I will." Sascha slid off the couch and rose to her feet.

"Are you going to bother the Head with this?" asked Dietrich.

"If you force me to, yes," said Sascha. "He'll want to know why Allison Tveit isn't dead yet."

"Then he'll also want to know why you're sleeping with your brother," said Dietrich. "I don't want to bother him with such disturbing information, but if you force me to, I will."

Sascha froze. She could already imagine her father's face when he heard that Sascha had been dating her brother for over a year. The distaste, the disgust, and the disappointment in his eyes would be more than Sascha could bear. The Head had believed in her, his daughter, his Sascha—and she had let him down all for the sake of the heated touches of Christoph Aegon.

"You wouldn't dare." Sascha's voice was low.

"Leave Allison Tveit alone," said Dietrich again. "And the Head never has to know."

"Fuck you." Christoph's body was surrounded by angry, red flames. "What's your problem?"

"I'm working." Dietrich spoke patiently, as if explaining to a two-year-old. "I like to finish my work without interruption."

"Father will ask me why I haven't done my job," said Sascha stiffly.

"Then lie," said Dietrich. "You're good at that."

Sascha had never hated red hair as much as she did right then. As she stared a Dietrich, she couldn't see a drop of Aegon in him. His black eyes and proud face—that usually reminded Sascha of their father—seemed nonexistent right then. All she could see was the bright red hair that Dietrich had inherited from his foreign mother.

"Get out," said Sascha. "Allison Tveit won't die by my hand. Now get out."

Dietrich smiled. "Good. We have an understanding." He opened the door and stepped out of the room.

The moment he was gone, Sascha wrapped her arms around Christoph's shoulders. She rebuilt the walls around her excess soul and wrenched her eyes shut, waiting for the colors to disappear. She felt her brother's strong arms slither around her waist and she buried her face in the crook of his neck.

"I hate them."

Christoph nodded. "Dietrich always was a smug asshole. Even when we were kids."

"Not him." Sascha was almost crying. "He was driven to it. That bitch managed to get her teeth in Dietrich and he can't get them out."

"Sascha." Christoph's arms tightened around her. "Sascha, tell me what's wrong."

"They're worms," she hissed. "The Nameless chimera who join the Houses, they pollute our bloodlines and pretend to be a part of us. Allison Tveit is trying to use Dietrich to gain the Aegon Name, the same way Emilie used our father. The People call us corrupt, Chris, but they don't understand. Infestation has caused us to lose our purpose and become corrupt. We're infested with the Nameless."

Christoph stroked the back of Sascha's sleek, black hair, encouraging her to let out all her frustrations.

"When the Houses were first formed," said Sascha. "When the Ancestor's sons ruled the Houses, the purpose was pure. We protected the People from foreigners, but as time went on, the chimera married outside the Houses. We married from the People, who were too weak to protect themselves, and we married treacherous foreigners, like that red-haired woman. Our bloodline became polluted."

Sascha pulled away from Christoph's chest and stared up into his severe, Aegon face. She extended a hand to cup his cheek, saying softly, "We must keep the bloodline pure, you and I."

Christoph's black eyes were filled with intensity. "We will."

* * *

**Seven**

"He killed her."

Niklas Pehr, CEO of the Central Bank and one of the founders of Those Who Name Themselves, collapsed onto the couch. His eyes were unfocused and his voice was soft, unable to comprehend his own words. "Tekla is dead."

Anton Macris dug his fingernails into his thigh but, for the most part, managed to keep his anger contained. Anton had received a message from Niklas, demanding his presence in the Pehr house. Anton had arrived only to hear the news—last night, Peter Oswalk broke into one of the Self-Named interview sessions and killed Tekla Valden and three other nameless chimera. Only Hannah Joakim had been left alive to deliver a message to the Self-Named. _Stay away from us and ours_.

"I should have been prepared," said Niklas. "The Houses wouldn't go down without a fight. I should have known they would strike back. But I didn't not expect them to find us so easily."

The living room was dark in tone, with auburn-stained floors, a redbrick fireplace, and black furniture. Dull-gold light were embedded in the ceiling, and large glass windows overlooked the backyard pool and garden.

The Pehr house was typical of that in the North District. In the 8th century, the Cadmus Mansion had been torn down and remodeled in the popular style of the time. Wanting their homes to be in fashion, the upper classes of the North District redid their homes in the same over-the-top style with extensive gardens, exterior pillars, and porticos.

A knot of jealousy formed in Anton's stomach whenever he visited the Pehr house. It was so different from the crumbling, one-story house that his mother owned in the Riverend District. What would it have been like to grow up in the North District? There would've been air conditioning during the summer and heating during the winter. His ma would've been there to welcome him and Caarina home from school instead of trudging home in the evenings, worn out from her shift at the factory. And maybe their da wouldn't have left.

"Peter Oswalk is a bastard," said Anton. "But he's good at what he does."

Niklas rested his head against the back of the couch and stared up at the ceiling. "I've always pitied Peter Oswalk. His life has been such a tragedy, and yet he serves Head Louisa Cadmus without hesitation. I always thought—" Niklas sighed. "I always thought we would liberate him one day."

Anton made of a noise of disgust in the back of his throat. "He's merciless. I know you see him as a Nameless chimera just like us—and he once was—but he belongs to the Cadmus now."

"You're right, of course. It was just my wishful thinking." Niklas closed his eyes and a shadow of weariness crossed his face. "Poor Tekla."

"She couldn't stop him?" asked Anton. "She had two members of her sect with her and two Nameless chimera—they couldn't defend themselves?"

Niklas shook his head.

"Peter Oswalk is something else." Anton leaned back in the black settee and let out a hard, short breath. "What are we going to do?"

There was no answer. Niklas' head was turned away from Anton as he stared out the windows at the backyard. Anton bit the inside of his cheek and said nothing.

He still remembered the first time Niklas had brought him home. Anton had been thirteen when two of his classmates, both had been fair-skinned and brown-haired, had found him walking on the riverbank. They had pushed Anton to the ground, asking why he'd gotten the talent when he wasn't even from Shion. Anton didn't bother to explain to them that his mother's hair was the same shade of brown as their and her skin was even paler. Instead, Anton grabbed the boys' arms, allowing his excess soul to flow through his fingertips. The boys screamed as pain jolted through their bodies. They wrenched their arms out of his grasp, called him a filthy foreigner one more time for good measure, and then fled to their homes. That was how Niklas Pehr found him—sitting on the bank of the Byenn River with a busted lip and several bruises.

Niklas had never met a chimera with the ability to create pain before. He'd heard of House chimeras with that talent—Head Theodore Aegon, Marcel Leandre, and Anne Rustad-Cadmus—but never had he actually encountered one. Niklas had brought Anton to his home in the North District. They'd sat in the same seats as they did now. Niklas perched on the edge of the leather couch, while Anton sat on the black settee. In the exact same living room, in the exact same seats as sixteen years ago, Niklas had offered Anton a new world. Anton no longer had to be a Nameless child, wandering the streets of the Riverend District, stained with his father's dark skin. Anton could Name himself—be a chimera in his own right—and fight against the Houses that looked down on him. At thirteen-years-old, Anton had dedicated his life to the cause.

"There's only one thing we can do," said Niklas.

Anton snapped out of his reverie. Niklas was still staring into the backyard, though he spoke directly to Anton.

"We must proceed," said Niklas. "Tekla, Josef, and I didn't found this organization simply to let it collapse at the first sign of danger. We didn't stop when Jonathan was murdered and we won't stop because Tekla was murdered. We are fighting for something greater than ourselves. The lives of the individuals are but stepping stones to the equality of all chimera."

Anton had heard all of Niklas' motivational speeches before, but one thing caught his attention. "Jonathan?"

"Right." Niklas rose from the couch and crossed the living room to the minibar that rested in the far corner. He took a brandy glass from the top shelf and filled it was tap water. "I never told you about Jonathan Tveit."

"Who is he?" asked Anton. "The name sounds familiar."

"He was a good man." Niklas seemed to be searching for the correct words. "A strong man. A tragic man. He lost everything in life in order to save one of his daughters from herself. And in the end, she killed him for it."

Anton's nose wrinkled in disgust. "Why?"

"She was six at the time." Niklas moved back to the couch, still holding the water glass. "But she was born a killer. It was in her nature. And even when faced with her own father, the girl resorted to the only thing she knew—murder."

"I don't understand," said Anton.

Niklas shook his head. "I'm sorry. I'm not telling the story right. Jonathan Tveit was the fourth founder of Those Who Name Themselves."

"There are four founders?" asked Anton, sitting up a little straighter. "Why haven't I heard of this before?"

"We don't talk about him to protect his daughter."

"The one who killed him?" asked Anton incredulously.

"No. His other daughter, Allison Tveit."

Anton swallowed. "The 3.33 chimera."

"The very same." The glazed look had returned to Niklas' eyes. "The one I tried to kill."

"And she ended up burning Aren Fisker into a fucking lump of charcoal."

"Don't condemn Allison," scolded Niklas, though he smiled fondly at Anton as he did so. "She's a victim as much as Aren."

"I still don't understand."

But Niklas was done with the subject. He finished his water and then placed the glass on the coffee table.

Anton watched Niklas collapse back onto the leather couch. In his mind, Anton began to see Allison Tveit and his own image overlap. Niklas adored children. He lavished on his daughter, Rahel, bringing her dolls and stuffed animals to play with when she was little, and during the hot summers of Anton's childhood, Niklas had allowed Anton and Caarina to swim in the backyard pool. Anton imagined Niklas gave young Allison Tveit the same affection—she had probably considered him a secondary father before her adoption by the Cadmus.

"Where's Rahel?" asked Anton at last.

"She's upstairs," said Niklas. "The news of Tekla's death has taken its toll on her. Her school friend came over with comfort food and movies."

"A chimera friend?"

"One of the People." Niklas saw the concern on Anton's face and added, "Rahel told her friend that her Aunt Teresa had died. The friend won't connect Rahel to Tekla."

Anton released a long, exhausted breath. "That bastard Oswalk."

"We should be more careful next time." Niklas leaned forward and rested his chin in his hands. "This was the reaction. We started this fight, and the Houses—at least, the Cadmus—are willing to continue it. We made the first move. They responded. It means it's our turn now." Niklas gritted his teeth. "It won't be easy, Anton. Each step forward will be stained with blood. But we must continue, for in order to achieve equality, we must take these painful steps."

"Of course," said Anton. "But what is our next step?"

* * *

**I know some people think they don't have anything interesting or constructive to say in reviews, but even just telling me your reactions to certain events in the chapter is really helpful. That way I know if I'm getting the response I want. So please, please, please, please, please review. I know you readers are out there. I can see your hits on my story! So PLEASE review!**


	10. The Encounter

**10. The Encounter**

**41 Day of Spring, 1288**

* * *

**One**

Ignace Leandre thanked the barista for his latte and then headed for the empty booth at the back of the coffee shop. He took a sip of the watery coffee and tried to hold back his grimace. He'd been telling Margaret that they needed to change locations for the past two years, but not only was the Corner Café located in the Third District, halfway between the Central Courthouse and the Leandre Mansion, but it also sold such low quality coffee that no House chimera would step foot in it. Ignace suppressed a sigh. Only Margaret would suffer through terrible coffee so their friendship could remain a secret.

Ignace glanced over his shoulder at the dining area of the café, which was filled with coffee-stained tables, beige wallpaper, and distinctly middle-class customers. Ignace had always received curious glances for his brand name suit and tie, so this time he'd thrown a cheap windbreaker over his collared-shirt and hoped no one noticed.

Fifteen minutes had passed, according to his cellphone, and Margaret still hadn't arrived. Ignace managed to get through about half his coffee before the taste had started to get to him.

He set the cup down on the tabletop and started to play with the shadows. Ignace wasn't a strong chimera. While he knew strong chimeras with the same talent for creating illusions, he couldn't create shapes or figures as they could. Instead, Ignace was limited to playing with shadows.

He pulled out some of his excess soul and spread it over the tabletop. With his mind, Ignace darkened and lightened areas of his excess soul, so that the shadow took the vague shape of a lion. When he'd been a boy, Ignace had named the lion after the legendary Cai Danfinn, who, it is said, defeated the gods of the north. Cai the Shadow Lion had helped entertain a young Ignace through many boring mathematics lessons. Keeping careful control of his excess soul, Ignace made Cai run around the base of the cardboard to-go cup, his hind legs moving slightly off rhythm.

"You look like you're having fun."

Cai disappeared and Ignace lifted his gaze to see a woman slide into the opposite side of the booth. Ignace swore that Margaret Cadmus had stopped aging when she reached forty. Her long, blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail and her blue eyes were framed with gray eye shadow that matched her pantsuit; she looked sleek and professional, the exact image she wanted to portray to her clients.

"You're late," said Ignace.

"Hello to you too, Ig." Margaret sipped her iced coffee through a pink straw. "I was delayed. The courthouse has added security since Alissa Evjen-Leandre's murder."

"Ah." Ignace nodded. "Her husband is upset that we can't have a funeral pyre until the police have finished their examination of her body."

Margaret shook her head. "The Ancestor knows how long that'll take."

"Exactly."

Margaret regarded Ignace with a knowing glint to her blue eyes.

"How's your shoulder?" asked Ignace, determined to ignore her unasked question. "Is your rotator cuff still giving you problems?"

"As long as I don't strain it, I'm fine. How's your back?"

"Not going anywhere. The disc is still slowly degenerating. I've started using a support pillow when I sleep." Ignace paused and then let out a low chuckle. "Look at us, swapping stories about our ailments. Maggie, I think we've gotten old."

Margaret smiled and tapped her fingers on the edge of the table, but didn't say a word. Ignace knew that expression well. When Margaret had first come to the Central Courthouse to begin her training to be a lawyer, Ignace had been assigned as her mentor. Neither one of them had been particularly pleased with the arrangement, but they quickly learned that they worked well together and had struck up a friendship that had lasted them twenty-five years. That expression was the one she wore whenever she was trying to wheedle information out of someone, and as much as Ignace hated to admit it, she usually succeeded.

"All right, I'll tell you." Ignace groaned. "These things are supposed to be confidential, you know."

Triumph flashed across Margaret's face and she said, "My lips are sealed."

"The Leandre doesn't know who murdered Alissa," said Ignace. "Lady Sabine was the one who investigated the crime scene on the Leandre's behalf, but there's no evidence indicating the killer. She suspects, however, that Peter Oswalk might have withheld information from the other Houses."

A smile toyed at Margaret's red lips. "Now why would he do that?"

Ignace sighed and rubbed his temples. "What did Peter Oswalk do now?"

"Don't worry," said Margaret. "We've taken care of the murderer. I'd recommend, however, that you keep a close eye on Lady Sabine."

"So the killer is still out there?"

"Or there's more than one killer." Margaret sucked on her straw.

"You won't tell me anything more than that?"

"These things are supposed to be confidential, you know.

Ignace smiled despite himself. "So how's Nathaniel doing?"

Immediately, the smug look disappeared from Margaret's face. "Head Louisa has put him to work in the Cadmus' financial department. He's working under my cousin Gerard."

"Well, you told me Nathaniel liked numbers."

"You haven't met Gerard," said Margaret. "Being trapped in an office with him for extended periods of time isn't healthy."

"He's that bad?" asked Ignace, suppressing a smile.

"Worse." Margaret pursed her lips. "I can't do Gerard justice. He's one of those people you have to meet to understand." She released a long sigh and took another sip of her iced coffee. "Head Louisa made a mistake choosing Michael."

"Really? Everyone I've spoken with on the matter considers Michael the better leader."

"Michael is the better choice if you want the Cadmus to remain the same as it did under Head Louisa. Nathaniel has more radical ideas." Margaret ran her thumb along the nail on her index finger and said, "The Houses won't be able to rely on our reputations and talents for much longer—eventually, the People will demand a redistribution of power. We've tried to keep them satisfied by letting them select with House candidate occupies each Seat, but one day the People will come to realize that they want a stronger say in the government. They won't want members of the Houses possessing the Seats. Michael shares his grandmother's disregard for the People, whereas Nathaniel would rather work with the People."

"I see." Ignace leaned back, trying to find a more comfortable sitting position for his stiff lower back. "But you know it takes more than noble ideals to make a competent leader. You also need the personality to inspire followers."

"And you don't think Nathaniel has that personality?"

"I don't know. I've never met Nathaniel."

Margaret examined her neatly manicured nails. "And what about Head Marcel? Do you think he has the personality of a leader?"

"What don't you understand about confidential?"

"Ig."

"Tell me about Robert. How's he doing?"

"Robert's good. I know the Leandre Council doesn't agree with Head Marcel's policies. Are they planning on moving against him?"

Ignace shook his head. There were many things he could tell Margaret about Head Marcel and his policies, but Ignace would never betray the Leandre, not even to his close friend. "Even if the Council were to move against Head Marcel, I would never support them."

"But you don't agree with his policies either." A moment after the words left her mouth, understanding struck Margaret. "This is about Marion, isn't it?"

Ignace fought back a scowl. He and Margaret had been working together on a case nineteen years ago when Trystan Leandre packed up and disappeared from Shion, leaving behind a bewildered wife and an eight-year-old child. Not long after Trystan's disappearance, Ignace had convinced himself that he would take care of Marion and her son Raoul. Marion had outright rejected his marriage proposal, but that didn't mean Ignace didn't have a soft spot for her and her son all these years later.

"Raoul is a good kid," said Ignace, sipping his latte. "I don't want him to go down with Head Marcel."

Margaret smirked. "So the Leandre Council does plan to move against Head Marcel."

"I didn't say that."

"But you implied it."

Ignace released a long, drawn out sigh. He hated it when Margaret could read into his words.

"So what do you plan to do about?" asked Margaret.

"I don't know," said Ignace honestly. "The other Council members don't trust me, so I'm not privy to their plans." Ignace traced the lid of the coffee cup with his index finger. "Marcel might not be such a weak Head if the Council members backed him, but he and Lady Sabine stand alone, while Eloi, Bonnaire, and Richaud scheme together."

Margaret frowned. "Surely the Council won't try to get rid of Lady Sabine as well as Head Marcel."

Ignace laughed bitterly. "Of course not. We wouldn't even have a Seat if it weren't for Lady Sabine. She's the only reason the Council hasn't made a move sooner. She's clearly devoted to her husband—even if he isn't as loyal. The Council knows that, at the moment, to lose Head Marcel is to lose Lady Sabine as well."

"The Leandre is the weakest House," said Margaret. "The Cadmus may not entirely agree with Head Louisa's decision to name Michael her heir, but no one doubts that he's capable of leading the Cadmus. And the Aegon has always stood firmly behind Head Theodore, even when he took a woman from Laque for his third wife." Margaret's cellphone rang. She pulled it out of her purse and read the brief message. "Our client's throwing a fit back at the courthouse."

"You have to go already?" asked Ignace.

"You know how it goes."

Margaret gulped down the last of her iced coffee and started to get out of the booth, but she paused when she met Ignace's gaze. Ignace didn't know what kind of struggle went through Margaret's mind, but after some thought, she leaned forward and said, "Keep your eyes open, Ig. If someone decides that Shion no longer needs the Houses, the Leandre will be the first to crumble."

Ignace's eyes narrowed. "What aren't you telling me?"

"I'm not at liberty to say. In fact, not many people in the Cadmus know this. But since it's you—" Margaret lowered her voice. "If you want to protect Marion and Raoul, be wary of those without Names."

Ignace felt his eyes widen, but he said nothing more as Margaret slipped out of the booth. Even if they were careful about their meeting places, Ignace wasn't so naïve to believe that their friendship went unnoticed. Who knew when someone on the Leandre or Cadmus payroll was listening in?

"I'll see you next time," said Ignace.

Margaret smiled. "You too."

* * *

**Two**

Raoul suppressed a sigh as he prepared for another night of hopping bars and looking for Knute Vidar. Common sense told Raoul to abandon his search, since Knute clearly didn't wish to be found, but Raoul had made a promise to Gull, and Raoul hated breaking his promises. At least, this time, he had the foresight to bring his swords.

Raoul was halfway down the lobby stairs when he saw Michael Cadmus.

The blond man stood out sorely against the sea of brown Leandre hair. However, if Michael felt out of place, he didn't show it. He stood at the front desk, talking to the secretary, Aimee. She kept glancing up at Michael nervously, as though afraid he might strike her. When Michael had finished speaking, Aimee reached for the phone, only for her hand to miss it completely. Through Aimee's blushing apology, Michael Cadmus's expression didn't change in the slightest.

"Lady Sabine isn't answering," said Aimee, hanging up the phone. "I don't know why."

"She's busy today," said Raoul. He covered the last few steps of the lobby stairs and came to stand in front of the help desk. Raoul casually placed an arm on the countertop and smiled at Aimee. "I got it from here, cuz."

"Raoul Leandre," said Michael in way of greeting. "What happened to your face?"

Raoul smiled. The bruises and cuts on his face had dulled to a blue-green color, but they were still vivid against his pink skin. "I got into a bar fight."

"Ah." Michael nodded, the barest movement of his head.

"So what brings you to the Leandre Mansion?" asked Raoul, still trying (and failing) to be pleasant.

"I need to speak with Lady Sabine Leandre."

"She's busy today." Raoul didn't feel it was necessary to add that she was busy playing squash with her second cousin.

"Shame," said Michael. "I supposed I can talk with you instead."

"Oh?" Raoul's face was growing sore from all the forced smiling. "Do you like to discuss business in offices or in public?"

"Right here is fine," said Michael.

Raoul was aware that people were staring. His cousins, his aunts, his uncles, his whatever-relations were watching the exchange with eager curiosity. Raoul shifted uncomfortably. What business could Michael Cadmus have with him—and in front of the whole of the Leandre no less?

"What is it?" asked Raoul, trying to keep a casual tone.

"Stay away from my fiancée."

It took Raoul a moment to realize that Michael was talking about Allison Tveit. That crazy girl was engaged to the heir of the Cadmus. And the heir of the Cadmus was standing right in front of Raoul.

"Sabine only invited her to lunch," said Raoul. "No need to get clingy."

"I don't care if Lady Sabine and Allison have lunch. What I care about is you and Lady Sabine trying to convince Allison to join the Leandre. Allison Tveit is a Cadmus chimera. She has no interest in the Leandre. You make her uncomfortable with such desperate offers."

Raoul drew himself up to his full height. Michael Cadmus was tall and muscular, but not as tall and as muscular as Raoul. Michael's blue eyes flashed with irritation, and then a smirk settled on to his face.

"Are you going to fight me?" asked Michael.

"No," said Raoul. "I'm expecting you to turn around and walk out of the Leandre Mansion now that you've delivered your message."

Michael was still smiling as he turned away from the front desk. He paused though and looked back over his shoulder. "My condolences about Alissa Evjen-Leandre."

"Thank you." With each word, Raoul felt like he was eating gravel.

It was only after Michael Cadmus had walked out of the front doors of the Mansion that Raoul breathed a sigh of relief. He leaned back against the desk counter and rolled his head to the side to stare at Aimee.

"Those Cadmus are crazier than I thought," said Raoul.

Aimee nodded. "And scarier."

"It's the blond hair," said Raoul. "Blond hair makes people do funny things."

* * *

**Three**

Levi Joakim-Cadmus felt out of place standing in the South District in which he'd been born and raised. The paved streets, sunbaked houses, the vivid water damage, the low-hanging electrical wires, and the rust-bucket cars—the South District hadn't changed in the past seventeen years, but Levi sure had.

He switched off the ignition of his sleek, blue sports car and opened the driver side door. Even the air in the South District was thicker than what he was used to.

Tugging at the hem of his bomber jacket, Levi locked the car and made his way down the cracked sidewalk to his parents' house. He had only lived in the one-story, white house for thirteen years of his life, and those were the thirteen years he'd rather forget. He remembered running up the concrete front steps when he arrived home from school to find the house empty. He remembered sitting out on the front porch when he was bored and picking at the peeling paint on the siding. He remembered breaking the metal fence with his excess soul, when he'd gotten into an argument with his younger brother.

Levi made his way up the front path, walking around his father's rusty bike and checking that there wasn't any dog shit where he stepped. He climbed the front steps to the veranda and found himself face to face with the front door. Gritting his teeth, his raised his left hand and knocked.

Part of him hoped they weren't home. Then, he could get back in his car and return to the Cadmus Mansion, saying, "Well, at least I tried." But another part of him needed them to open the door. He needed to see their grieving faces so he knew someone else cared that his brother had been murdered.

There was a click as the deadbolt was unlocked. The door swung open to reveal a gray-haired woman in a floral-print dress. For a second, Levi could only stare at his mother. Mila Joakim aged; there were new wrinkles on her forehead and bags had appeared under her dark eyes.

Levi swallowed. "Hello."

"Get out." Her voice was low and deadly.

"I've just come to see how you're doing," said Levi.

"Get out, you filthy Cadmus dog!"

Mila slapped her left hand against her son's shoulder. The blow itself wasn't powerful, but surprise was enough to make Levi step back.

"You're one of them!" shrieked Mila. "They killed my boy and you're one of them! How could you, Levi? Your own brother!"

Levi grabbed his mother's wrists so she'd stop hitting him. He stared down at her tear-stained face and said, "I didn't know. I didn't find out until I read the newspaper this morning and his name was listed as one of the victims."

"You didn't know." Mila spat out the words as if they were poison. "How could you not know?"

"Mila."

Luuk Joakim appeared in the doorway behind his wife. He'd shaved off all his hair since the last time Levi had seen him. The green eyes, which Luuk had passed on to both his sons, stared at Levi with hatred and, perhaps, disappointment.

Mila wrenched her hands out of Levi's grasp and turned to bury her face in her husband's arms. "I don't want to see him. Make him leave."

From the moment he'd first seen his bleary-eyed mother, something had started to chip away at Levi's heart. He should've known coming to his parent's house was a terrible idea.

The newspaper article had said that, on the 39 Day of Spring, in an abandoned fire department in the South District, the police found four victims—Ragnvold Dolby, Jarle Joakim, Simeon Tenne, and Tekla Valden—who had been mugged and murdered by local drug dealers. When Levi had seen his younger brother's name in the newspaper, he hadn't known what to think. His mind had emptied of all thoughts except images of a skinny, green-eyed boy with a mop of brown hair. Levi had been adopted by the Cadmus when his brother was only nine, but he still remembered the excitement on Jarle's face when he realized that he was chimera as well. It was just that Jarle wasn't as strong a chimera as Levi.

"I'm sorry," said Levi, taking a step back. "I just wanted to pass on my condolences."

Luuk's eyes narrowed. "Your condolences?"

Levi bit the insides of his cheeks. He tried to remember his training under Samuel Cadmus. Don't lose your temper. That was one of the first rules Levi had ever been told. A strong chimera who lost his temper was danger to himself and those around him. However, Levi was already unsettled from the news of his brother's death, and his parents' accusations weren't helping him keep calm.

"Jarle was my brother," said Levi. "Even if I wasn't as close to him as brothers ought to be, I still feel the pain of his passing. May the Ancestor guide him from this life."

Mila released a strangled sob, and Luuk said, "Get out of might sight, Cadmus snake."

When the stressful situation becomes too much, Samuel had always said, just turn around and walk away. Sometimes, it's better to be seen a coward than a chimera with no control.

"Goodbye." Levi started down the concrete steps back towards his car.

"How could you?" Mila's shrill voice stopped Levi in his tracks. "How could you let them murder your own brother?"

All the stress-handling techniques Samuel had taught him went out the window as Levi spun around to face his parents. The walls of control were slipping, but Levi held them up as he cried, "Don't you dare talk to me like that! Don't you dare treat me as if I'm some traitor who walked into your home. Who was it that handed me over to the Cadmus? You could have told them 'no'!"

"You're a chimera," said Luuk. "What else were we supposed to do with you?"

"Jarle was a chimera too, but you didn't hand him over to the Cadmus!"

A crack appeared in the wall and some of Levi's excess soul slipped out. A wave of unseen force rippled across the front lawn and slammed into his father's rusty bike. The metal frame toppled over and skid across the cement path.

Mila squeaked. "Stop it, Levi!"

Levi wrenched his eyes shut and focused on strengthening the walls around his excess soul. He couldn't let his control slip like that. He knew better.

"Ma? Da? What's happening?"

At sound of a soft, unfamiliar voice, Levi opened his eyes. A petite woman with ash-blonde hair stood in the doorway of his parents' house. She looked a mess with face swollen from crying and a white bandage wrapped around her right shoulder. Her brown eyes widened at the sight of Levi and she stepped out onto the veranda to wrap her good arm around Mila's shoulders.

"Hannah, go back inside," said Luuk. "You need to rest."

Hannah ignored Luuk's words, keeping her gaze fixed on Levi. Finally, she said, "You're Jarle's brother."

Levi stiffened. "Who are you?"

"Do you know Peter Oswalk?" Hannah's voice was soft, but her eyes were hardened with hatred.

"In passing," said Levi. "Why?"

"Do you know why Jarle died?"

"The newspaper said drug dealers." Even as he said the words, Levi stopped believing them. Jarle had been a chimera who could create waves of unseen force. He wouldn't have died at the hands of mere drug dealers.

"Lies. All Cadmus lies." Hannah's eyes were welling up with tears. "Jarle and I just wanted things to change. We didn't want to be Nameless anymore. We wanted the Houses to see that we were worthy of their attention too."

Levi's throat was dry. "What did you and Jarle do?"

"He talked about you a lot, you know," said Hannah. "He talked about how the Cadmus took his brother away and turned you into one of them. He wanted his brother back. So when Ragnvold approached us at that bar and said there was a way to fight against the Houses, we agreed. We just had to pass an interview and we could join them. We could meet other Nameless chimera and we could work together to end the supremacy of the Houses."

"Idiot." Levi felt a wave of horror wash over him as everything started to make sense. "If you threaten the Houses, of course the Head is going to send Peter Oswalk after you."

"The Self-Named are non-violent!" cried Hannah. "Ragnvold told us. We were going to protest and change the laws through peaceful means. We never wanted to hurt anybody."

Levi took another step backwards and surveyed the family standing on the front porch. His mother and sister-in-law were openly sobbing now, their arms wrapped around one another's shoulders, as if they were trying to hold themselves together. Luuk's arms were folded over his chest, and he remained the immovable figure on the porch, the one who would protect his family from any danger that came knocking at his door.

But wasn't Levi part of his family too? Just because the Cadmus had adopted Levi, didn't mean that Luuk could just strike his son out of family registry.

"Why?" asked Levi. "Why did you have to try and change things?"

Levi pulled the car keys out of his jacket pocket and turned away from his parents' house. He knew their eyes were on him as he walked down the sidewalk back to his blue sports car, but Levi refused to look over his shoulder and meet their gazes.

* * *

**Four**

Dani was perched, completely still, on top of the curved crisscross of metal bars that made up the jungle gym. Her hands clutched the two bars that her feet rested on and, in a squatting position, she lifted her head to scan the park. To her left, there was a swing-set, next to which the grass was scorched and dead. To her right, there was a metal slide, the red paint chipping off in places. In the center of the playground was a bright streetlamp that illuminated a small circle of the park and little else.

Dani lifted her gaze to the apartment complex across the street. There was a light on in the third apartment of the second floor. Dani could see a black shape move behind the curtains but couldn't make out no details. It didn't matter though; Dani didn't need to see behind the curtains to know who was living in the apartment.

"You did a good job with Michael. You're much better at acting than I am."

Allison, of course, didn't answer, but Dani knew that her sister was listening. You had to watch. You had to listen. There was nothing else to do when you're a prisoner, forced to sit at the back of someone else's mind. You couldn't sleep, you couldn't even close your eyes and pretend reality is a lie.

Dani gritted her teeth, unable to resist the feeling of resentment that came over her whenever she remembered the chains that had once bound her.

"But you slipped up when you mentioned me." Dani forced herself to keep talking, forced herself to focus on the task at hand. "Or maybe it wasn't a mistake, maybe you really don't like your boyfriend as much as you pretend to."

Dani paused for effect, hoping her words were sinking in. If she wanted to succeed, she needed Allison's silence. Dani had promised Dietrich that she could handle the spy in her head, and she would fulfill that promise—even if it meant using Thom.

"He has no idea," said Dani. "I could burn his apartment complex to the ground right now and he would never know it was coming. The flames don't hurt me, so we could get as close to the action as I wanted. Do you want to listen to him die, Allison?"

Gripping the metal bars, Dani maneuvered herself to the edge of the jungle gym. For a second, she imagined she was little girl, playing under her father's watchful eye. She wasn't afraid of falling, but she could imagine her father's heart racing, refusing to relax until Dani was back on the ground. But then, Dani remembered that was twenty-three-years-old and alone on the playground. She hopped down from the jungle gym, bending her knees to take in the impact as she hit the mulch.

Straightening up, Dani said, "I know you don't want him to die. Even if you chose the Cadmus over him, I know you love him. So keep your mouth shut, and I'll leave him alone."

Dani took a deep breath and started back towards the main road, where she could flag down a taxi.

"Allison!"

Thom's voice cut through the evening air. Dani gritted her teeth, and purposely kept her back to him. She kept walking, her head held high and her hands stuffed in the pockets of her jacket. Perhaps if she pretend she couldn't hear him, he'd go away.

"Wait."

Thom grabbed Dani by the shoulder and forced her to turn around. Dani responded instinctively, sending out a wave of her excess soul.

Thom yelped and pulled his hand away, staring at it as though it had betrayed him. Then, he met her gaze and said, "Allison, I just wanted to talk."

"Don't call me that name."

Thom's back was to the lamppost, so his face was shadowed and difficult to read, but Dani imagined a surprised expression. Thom shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and then he lifted his head. "Dani?"

A smile flickered on Dani's face as she stepped back and let her sister take control.

* * *

**Five**

The name tasted like led in Thom's mouth.

Dani.

It was his second time meeting her and, if possible, he liked her even less than the first. Her face, with the same full lips, glass-blue eyes, and the four freckles on her nose, was identical to Allison's, but at the same time, they had nothing in common at all.

Dani stood before him, her hands shoved into the pockets of her black jacket. She looked completely at ease with herself in a way that Allison could never be.

"Where's Allison?" Thom's voice broke slightly on the last word.

Dani staggered. Her eyes rolled back and her legs started to give in beneath her. Then, as if embarrassed, Dani stood upright, looking around her with an alarmed expression. Finally, Dani's eyes came to rest on Thom and her face turned stark white.

"No." Her voice soft and she took a step away from Thom.

It took a moment for Thom to recognize the change, but when he realized that the woman who stood in front of him now was not Dani, but Allison, he leapt forward to catch her hand.

"Are you okay?" asked Thom. "Allison, I'm here."

Allison yanked her arm away from Thom. "Don't call me that!"

Thom blinked. He was certain it was Allison and not Dani who stood before him now. Her eyes were wide and vulnerable and she was biting her bottom lip the way his sweet Allison always did. But her voice was harsh and she was rejecting her name—perhaps, in his wishful thinking, Thom had only mistaken Dani for Allison.

No. He could never confuse the two.

"Allison," Thom pleaded. "Allison, please. Tell me what's wrong. I can help you."

"No." Her gaze became suddenly fierce. "I'm not Allison. I will burn you if you call me that again."

"Why are you pretending to be Dani?" Thom's voice was failing him, becoming softer with each word.

"You need to stop." An ugly, forced grin appeared on her face. "Stop chasing after Allison. She left you. She realized that she is of the Cadmus and you are of the People. You cannot be a part of her world. She's done." Allison paused. "She's done with you and the sooner you understand that, the better."

Thom blinked. "Are you breaking up with me for a second time?"

"Yes."

Though there were no tears in her eyes, Thom thought there should've be. Perhaps if he saw her cry over him, the lump in his chest would ease a little. It hurt so much to see Allison—no longer his Allison—trying to be a crude imitation of Dani.

"I want you to understand something," said Allison.

"What?" The word came out as a snap. Thom swallowed and tried again. "What must I understand?"

"Allison loved you." Her Dani mask was slipping away and once again, Thom could see traces of the true Allison's smile. "She loved you very much, but that doesn't mean she can be with you. Not when your life is in danger and not when the Cadmus needs her. She simply can't be with you. And she is sorry."

"It doesn't have to be like this," said Thom. "Whatever it is, we can work it out. Let me help you."

Allison smiled, and this time, it was genuine. "Yes, it does. Thank you."

And then, she walked away.

Thom watched her go, uncertain if he should chase after her. If he were in a movie, he would chase after her. He would sweep her off her feet and tell her that it had to be her. He could love no one but her—all she had to do was stay with him.

But as he stared at her black-clad figure retreating into the night, Thom realized the finality of it all. He wasn't in a movie. He could chase after Allison now and to the end of time, and it would always end with Allison walking away and him standing alone, wondering if he should trying again.

Instead, Thom took a deep breath and shouted after her. "I love you too, Allison Tveit!"

If she heard him, she didn't show it.

* * *

**Six**

There was a movie playing in the background, but Marcel couldn't hear it over the sound his own pounding heart. His was lying on his back, his arms wrapped around strong shoulders and his mouth swollen from kissing. Marcel didn't know how long they'd been at it, and, truth be told, he didn't care. Right then, in that moment, there was no Leandre, there was no Council, and there was no Sabine. In that moment, there was just Marcel and Bastien.

Bastien broke the kiss to catch his breath. "I think someone just died."

"Huh?" Marcel blinked, still trying to recover his senses.

Smiling, Bastien jerked his head in the direction of the flat screen television. "In the movie."

"Oh." Marcel ran his hand over Bastien's buzz cut, and enjoyed the prickly sensation against his palm. "Don't care."

A chuckle sounded deep in Bastien's throat as he lowered his head back down, Marcel parting his lips in anticipation.

Marcel had been twenty-two when he'd realized that he was attracted to men. Unfortunately for Sabine, the realization hadn't come until after they'd married. Not that it would've made a difference—the Leandre Council always got what it wanted.

In his mind, Marcel credited his sexual epiphany to both Raoul and Sabine: Raoul because Marcel had never been able to relate when Raoul talked about the women in his fantasies and Sabine because Marcel hadn't been able to consummate their marriage until he started imaging men.

Sabine had been the first person he'd come out to. Marcel felt he owed it to her to tell her the truth. She'd rushed to Raoul for comfort and cried for days, so there wasn't really any hiding the situation from Raoul after that.

Raoul had been surprisingly reasonable about the whole situation. Marcel had heard stories about Miriam Cadmus, who had been ostracized after her husband found her in bed with another woman, and Marius Aegon, who hung himself after Lady Elsa had his lover drowned in the Byenn River. Leading up to his confession, Marcel had always imagined his friends would begin treating him scorn and disgust, but they had done no such things. Sabine had been understandably upset about her marriage to a man who could never love her completely, but Raoul had always been accepting and supportive.

Marcel tugged at the hem of Bastien's shirt, and Bastien sat upright, giving himself space to pull the shirt over his head and toss it onto the camelback sofa. Marcel stared up at the sculpted chest before him, appreciating the hard lines and dark hairs.

"You like?" asked Bastien, a mischievous glint in his dark eyes.

Marcel lifted his head just high enough to kiss Bastien's bare shoulder. "Me like."

On the 36 Day of Winter, Year 1283, Bastien Charlot arrived at the gates of the Leandre, dressed in a too-large raincoat and fraying jeans. When asked what he was doing, Bastien said that he was tired of working in a car factory, he was one of the strongest chimeras alive, and he wanted an audience with the Head of the Leandre. The chimera on duty refused to let Bastien enter Leandre grounds, so Bastien decided to give a display of his abilities. After much debate, the Council agreed to admit Bastien as a member of the Leandre and pay for him to enter the Chamber. The decision had been rewarding since Bastien emerged from the Chamber with a 2.78 Tasking Number.

A gun shot sounded on the television, and Bastien stopped nibbling on Marcel's neck long enough to hit the power button on the remote.

The romance between Marcel and Bastien had been anything but instant. Marcel had considered Bastien a violent, uncouth man from the Riverend District, while Bastien had considered Marcel an arrogant, selfish House chimera. It was only after Bastien had been assigned as Marcel's bodyguard that the two began to understand one another. They found that they shared a love for thriller movies, scotch, and architectural history. Bastien learned that Marcel's father had died of lung cancer and his mother had overdosed on sleeping pills soon after. Marcel had learned that Bastien sent a large portion of his bank account to his parents in the Riverend District.

As soon as the two men started talking, their relationship fell into place. It happened so fast and so suddenly that Marcel hadn't had time to think about how his love for Bastien might affect the people around him. But even as he felt Raoul and Sabine start to slip away, Marcel couldn't bring himself to regret the relationship. Not when he had these moments of pure happiness.

"I'm going to get carpet burn," said Marcel, as he pulled his t-shirt over his head.

Bastien rolled over onto his back, taking Marcel with him so that they'd switched places. Laughing, Marcel planted several kisses on Bastien's jaw. He ran his hands down Bastien's smooth back and fingered the waistband of his jeans.

"Do you want something?" Bastien grinned mischievously.

"Yes." Marcel gave the jeans a little tug. "Pants off—"

The sharp ring of the doorbell filled the Marcel's living quarters, causing Marcel and Bastien to break apart. There was a rush to get clothes back on and fix appearances. Marcel raked his fingers through his curly, brown hair, trying to repair the rumpled mess, while Bastien positioned himself on the camelback sofa.

For a brief moment, Marcel pictured what it'd be like to be discovered. Would he be ostracized and forced to surrender the title of Head? Or would he be stripped of his Name and forced to leave the Leandre? Or would everyone pretend that they hadn't noticed anything and let him continue his affair? Or would they be accepting and understand that Marcel couldn't help the way he was?

Marcel almost laughed allowed at the last idea. He still remembered when the news of Marius Aegon's suicide reached the Leandre. Marcel had only been nine at the time, but even he understood what had happened to Marius and his lover. Marcel wasn't stupid enough to think that the Leandre would regard his homosexuality any better than the Aegon had regarded Marius'.

Taking a deep breath and trying to keep his racing heart under control, Marcel opened the front door. Eloi Leandre, master of the Leandre treasury and council member, stood on the other side, dressed in his usual blue suit and tie.

"Good evening," said Marcel, trying to keep his voice even.

"Good evening, Head." Eloi smiled jovially. "I have some papers I need you to sign regarding the new allowances for Pierre Leandre and Anika Kramer-Leandre."

Marcel glanced down at the manila folder and then back up at Eloi. "Uh, yeah. Come in."

He stepped back to give Eloi enough space to step through the doorway.

Every Leandre member had his or her own living space. Families were given larger quarters than single members. As the Head, Marcel had received the nicest section of the Mansion, which had three bedrooms, two offices, a dining room, a sitting room, a mini kitchen, and two massive bathrooms, each with a double-headed shower and a whirlpool tub. It was more than Sabine and Marcel needed, but they'd long ago learned not to complain about the perks of being the Head and Lady of the Leandre.

Sabine had designed the sitting room seven years ago after their marriage. The maroon leather couch, the black camelback sofa, the glass coffee table, and the beige, tufted rug had all been her choices. Marcel felt a twinge of guilt whenever he saw Bastien amongst Sabine's furniture.

Eloi paused when he saw Bastien draped across the camelback sofa, holding the remote as if he'd just paused the movie.

"Hello," said Eloi.

Bastien gave a curt nod in greeting.

Marcel could practically see the gears turning in Eloi's mind as he wondered what Bastien was doing in the Head's living quarters past seven o'clock. Surely, the Head didn't need a bodyguard when he went to bed.

"We were watching a movie," said Marcel. "You a fan of _Flowers After Dark_?"

"Never heard of it," said Eloi, handing over the manila folder.

"Shame." Marcel sat down on the leather couch and opened the folder on the coffee table. "Bastien and I are big fans of director."

"I see."

Marcel kept his eyes on the documents before him, so he didn't know what kind of dark looks Bastien and Eloi were exchanging.

"Have you booked the Chamber for their Tasking Ceremonies?" asked Marcel. The new allowances for Anika and Pierre's accounts were correct, so Marcel signed at the bottom of each form.

"Anika will enter the Chamber on the 48 Day of Spring and Pierre will enter on the 64 Day of Spring." Eloi's tone was cheerful, but when Marcel looked up he saw that there was a cold rage behind Eloi's eyes and a curl to his lips.

Marcel felt as though someone had grabbed hold of his heart and wouldn't let go. The look of disgust on Eloi's face was enough to remind Marcel of all his nightmares. Eloi knew. He had to know. Why else would he wear that expression? He would tell the other Council members and the Leandre would strip Marcel of his Name.

By some miracle, Marcel managed to keep his hand steady as he handed the manila folder back to Eloi. "Is that everything?"

Eloi smiled, showing every one of his white teeth. "Yes. Sorry to disturb you, Head. But payday is approaching and I need to finalize the deposits."

"I understand."

The sneer had returned to Eloi's lips as he turned away from Marcel and Bastien and made his way back to the front door. Marcel followed, ensuring that the door was closed and locked behind Eloi.

Eloi hadn't said anything. Perhaps he hadn't noticed. Perhaps he'd really thought that Marcel and Bastien had just been watching a movie. Perhaps his sneer had been because he didn't like Bastien or Marcel; the other four members of the Council made it no secret that they didn't agree with Marcel's policies. Or perhaps Eloi had noticed and was planning to tell the rest of the Council in secret.

Running his fingers through his dark curls, Marcel made his way back to the sitting area.

"You're white," said Bastien.

Marcel collapsed onto the camelback sofa and then leaned over so that his head rested on Bastien's shoulder. "Just give me a minute."

His fears were pointless, Marcel knew that. Even if they did know about the affair, the Council wouldn't strip Marcel of his Name. They couldn't afford to. If Marcel left the Leandre, Sabine and Bastien were certain to follow. And, as much as the Council was loath to admit it, the Leandre needed the second and third strongest chimera alive.

Marcel closed his eyes. Who would've thought that out of him, Sabine, and Bastien, he, the Head of the Leandre, would've been the disposable one?

* * *

**Seven**

Anton Macris was concealed by the branches of an old oak tree. He sat on the gray, shingled roof of an expensive, North District house, looking over a white-stone wall into the Cadmus grounds. Through the inky night, Anton could see the five-story Cadmus Mansion with white columns spanning from second to ground floor, the colonnade topped by a frieze of serpents, a grand terrace spanning the length of the second floor, and a uniform, level roofline decorated by marble statues.

The longer Anton looked at the Cadmus Mansion, the more he felt the old feeling of disgust. The Named chimera could afford to have lush, green grounds that were delicately cared for by hired gardeners. They could step outside in the mornings and take a jog through the flowerbeds, beneath the draping trees, and around the artistic fountains. The House chimera had so much just outside their doorstep, while many Nameless chimera spent their days doing manual labor down by the port or working their fingers to the bone in factories.

And what had they done? What had the House chimera done to deserve such expensive living, while Anton spent his nights in a cheap apartment in the South District? Nothing. The answer was nothing. The Named chimera had the simple fortune of being born into the right family.

Anton shook his head, trying to get rid of the pounding rage. He wasn't sitting on the roof of some lawyer's house just to dwell on his hatred of the Houses. He was watching the small-statured man who walked amongst the gardens and watched the entrances to the Cadmus grounds.

Peter Oswalk was on night patrol. He was working with another chimera, this one blond-haired and blue-eyed. The two weren't on good terms, however; they passed by without a word, each pretending that the other didn't exist.

Anton gritted his teeth.

Images of Tekla Valden flashed through his mind. The woman had been all skin and bones, with an oval face, and deeply etched wrinkles. All of Anton's memories of her were motherly. Anton and Caarina would be playing a board game in the playroom of the Pehr house and Tekla would come for a visit, bringing cakes and cookies from her café in the Third District. Tekla would lift baby Rahel in her arms and sing a soft lullaby, while Niklas explained the new fishing techniques he and Josef had invented.

Peter Oswalk disappeared behind the trunk of the oak tree, and Anton shifted his head to the side, trying to keep Peter in view. However, the tree's branches were too thick and concealed Peter Oswalk from view. Anton couldn't move without risk of giving his position away. With a sigh, Anton leaned back on the roof and waited for Peter to reappear.

Anton couldn't erase the image of Tekla cooing to the soft, warm face of baby Rahel. When he looked down at the Cadmus grounds, the rage sparked and burned inside of him. It would be so easy to jump from the roof, over the wall, and into the gardens. All it would take was one touch. All Anton had to do was place his hand on Peter Oswalk's shoulder and agonizing pain would shoot through Peter's body like a thousand pins being jammed into his skin.

Niklas had told Anton just to watch Peter Oswalk, ensure that he planned no more attacks on the Self-Named, but that didn't mean that Anton couldn't image what it'd be like to have Tekla's murderer all to himself.

Peter Oswalk would suffer, Anton would make certain of it. The pain would never relinquish until Peter Oswalk apologized to the soul of Tekla Valden and begged for forgiveness. Only then, after hours of excruciating torment, would Anton kill the bastard.

* * *

**Eight**

Peter Oswalk stood in the shadows of the knotted oak tree and stared down at the thirteen large, stone plaques that were embedded the ground, framed by strands of grass. Each plaque was marked with dates at the top that spanned one-hundred years. Below the two dates, were lists of names, each name succeeded by a date of birth and a date of death.

Peter read over the names of the plaque marked 1200-1299, picking out the names he recognized: Renfred Cadmus 1181-1246, Lady Ruth Cadmus 1192-1251, Shannon Cadmus 1183-1257, Head Burton Cadmus 1189-1260, and Lord Johnathan Cadmus 1213-1272.

There weren't any bodies buried, of course. The bodies had been cremated in order to free the soul. Once the soul had been severed, the body held no more spiritual significance, so the ashes were sent to one of the many conservation parks throughout and around Shion, where the ashes were mixed with the soil.

Peter scuffed the stone marking of Head Johnathan Cadmus's name with the toe of his shoe.

He had been six-years-old when he attended his parents funeral pyre. It seemed so long ago. Peter remembered feeling grateful to the Cadmus, because they paid for the funeral expenses. In the poorer districts, a massive burning took place at the end of every cycle, because most families couldn't afford individual funeral pyres.

Lord Johnathan had been the only member of the Cadmus who accompanied him to the burning grounds in the Third District. Peter had been trembling as he stood at the podium and recited the ritual words: "We, the bodied and the bodiless, have gathered today to witness the pyre of David and Cecilie Oswalk. We set fire to their bones and release their immortal souls from their bodily prisons. We mourn their deaths, but we celebrate their liberation. By fires of purification, the Chimera guides them from this life."

When Peter closed his eyes and breathed deeply, he could still remember the crisp, charcoal smell as the flames leapt and ate at his parents' bodies.

Something moved in the branches of the oak tree.

Peter opened his eyes and lifted his head towards the blue-black sky. He squinted at the crooked branches of the tree, expecting to see a bird or a cat; however, as Peter peered through the leaves, he saw the figure of a human being squatting on the roof of one of North District houses.

Peter's mouth twitched into a frown. He glanced over at Haythem Cadmus, the other chimera on patrol, and signaled that he was going to investigate something. Haythem gave the barest nod of acknowledgement, and Peter moved towards the white-stone wall that divided the Cadmus property from the surrounding suburb.

The wall was easy enough to climb. Peter used an indent in the white stones as a foothold, and under the cover of the oak tree, he hoisted himself over the fence and landed on the paved sidewalk below.

He glanced up at the house to checking to make certain that the watcher had not left. Peter could see the figure much clearer now and he noted the curly, black hair and copper skin. A foreigner.

Peter walked around the house, wondering how the foreigner had gotten on to the roof. Then, Peter saw the wall on the south side of the house, which had notched bricks for decoration purposes. It was easy enough for Peter, who had been training at the Cadmus gym since he was eight, to scamper up the side of the house and haul himself onto the shingled roof.

The foreigner still hadn't noticed as he crouched, his back to Peter, and looked out of the Cadmus grounds. His muscles were taut and his shoulder curved forward, as if he might spring forward to attack at any moment.

Taking two cautious steps forward, Peter approached the foreigner. The third step Peter took caused one of the shingles to release a cracking sound. The foreigner twitched and started to turn around, but Peter said, "If you move, I will kill you."

The foreigner stiffened but did as commanded.

"Who are you?" asked Peter. "And why are you watching the Cadmus?"

Trembling ever so slightly, the foreigner shook his head.

Peter took a step forward. His feet shifted uneasily on the sleek shingles, but years of training kept him upright. "Do you know who I am?"

The foreigner said nothing.

Peter reached back to the darkness behind his eyes and started to pull down the barrier that restrained his excess soul.

"Murderer."

The foreigner spun around. He stepped across the roof, covering the distance between him and Peter with surprising speed and balance.

Eyes blazing, the foreigner reached out as if to strike Peter. Peter grabbed the foreigner's wrist and shaped his excess soul into a blade.

Starting at the small place where Peter's fingers touched the foreigner's wrist, pain—like the stabbing of a thousand knives—shot through Peter's body. At the same time, the unseen blade had sliced into the foreigner's shoulder. Peter screamed. Every nerve in his body was on fire and Peter collapsed to his knees, gasping in pain. The foreigner yelped as blood appeared at his shoulder. He slipped on the shingles and crashed into the branches of the oak tree. After some desperate scrambling for a handhold, the foreigner released the tree and dropped down from sight.

Peter cursed. The foreigner was actually a half-blood with the talent to create pain.

Muscles still straining from the intense dose of pain, Peter crawled to the edge of the roof. Using one of the oak tree's knobbed branches for support, Peter peered down, searching the backyard and sidewalk for the foreigner.

"What happened?" Haythem Cadmus stood on top of the white wall, a gun holstered at his right hip.

Breathing heavily, Peter said, "He got away."

"Who?"

"A half-foreigner chimera."

"Fuck." Haythem drew his gun and hopped down from the wall. Peter watched as Haythem surveyed the street, searching for any signs of movement.

Groaning, Peter leaned back on the roof. The muscles spasms were dying down and the nausea was starting to fade. By the Ancestor, he hated chimera who could create pain. He'd once trained with George Walder-Cadmus, and it'd taken over a day for Peter's body to return to normal. The foreigner wasn't as strong as George but it still hurt like fuck.

The foreigner had to be one of the Nameless. Peter would've heard if a ciosaolean chimera had joined one of the Houses; there'd almost been an uprising when the red-haired laqui married Head Theodore Aegon.

Gritting his teeth, Peter grabbed hold of the oak tree's branches. Carefully, he swung himself to the tree trunk, and then lowered himself to the ground from there.

But why would a Nameless chimera be spying on the Cadmus? Unless the foreigner was a member of Those Who Name Themselves.

Peter grimaced.

It appeared the Self-Named had decided to ignore his warning.

* * *

**So...what did you think? What did you think of Ignace Leandre and Margaret Cadmus' friendship? What did you think of Michael versus Raoul in the Leandre Mansion? What did you think of - new character! - Levi Joakim-Cadmus? What about Allison pretending to be Dani? And you FINALLY got to hear about Marcel Leandre amd Bastien Charlot's relationship. Did you know that was my first time writing a homosexual makeout session? It wasn't as hard as I thought it'd be... And what did you think of Anton versus Peter? Someone finally managed to get a hit on Peter! Yay! (He needed that.)**

**Please, please, please review!**


	11. The Selection

**11. The Selection**

**42 Day of Spring, 1288**

* * *

**One**

The Readjustment Season took place once every three years. The rules were simple—every citizen of Shion could vote for one candidate for Seat and every candidate must belong to one of the Houses. The candidates with the most votes would possess their respective Seats for the next three years. The only exception to this was the Warrior's Seat, which was determined through a single-elimination, sixteen-person, public competition. People would pay a lot of money to watch strong chimera fight—which meant the Shion treasury was a little bit fatter at the end of the day. Each House was allowed to enter five candidates and the sixteenth candidate was chosen by the People's popular vote. Of course, the People's candidate was only a straw man. The Warrior's Seat had always been possessed by a House chimera.

The last time Dietrich had been forced to attend the Aegon meeting on Selection Day, he'd been bored out of his mind. Three years ago, it had been fairly obvious that Sabine Leandre—with her monstrous 2.82—would possess the Seat. While Sabine Leandre might not be the most tactical fighter, there had been no one who could compete with her when it came to sheer power. The only chimera who had a fighting chance was Peter Oswalk. In short, three years ago, the Aegon didn't have a hope in the world of winning the Warrior's Seat.

Actually, Dietrich thought, the Aegon still didn't have a hope of winning. The reason he was so interested in the debate this year was Dani Tveit. The Cadmus would undoubtedly want Allison to represent them; the only question was, "Would Dani want represent them?"

Dietrich sat in the Stateroom surrounded by about two-hundred black-haired chimera, a handful of brown-haired Nameless, and of course, his red-haired siblings. Since midnight when the debate began, most of the chimera came and went from Stateroom as they wished. Only the red-haired siblings had remained in the circular auditorium the entire time, and they stayed only because their mother required it of them.

Dietrich sat four rows from the front, slouching in his seat and running his fingers through his already rumpled hair. Clare and Roden, who sat on either side of him, were not better off. Roden had circles under his eyes and Clare was running on coffee alone. Cord and Magda were sitting a few rows back, trying to nap while their mother wasn't looking. Only Elena had been pardoned from attending and that was because she had morning sickness. For the first time in his life, Dietrich was envious of a pregnant woman.

"Can they just announce Adam's name already?" asked Clare. "He competes in every competition."

Roden yawned. "He doesn't win though."

"He just enjoys a good fight." Clare drummed her finger on the arm of her seat and smiled wistfully, no doubt remembering her combat lessons with Adam.

Dietrich had to admit that if anyone in the Aegon had a chance of defeating Sabine Leandre it was Adam.

Roden sighed. "We all know Allison Tveit will possess the Warrior's Seat. Can they just pick the five sacrificial goats and get it over with already?"

"She might not compete," said Clare. "The Cadmus hasn't announced their candidates yet. And you know there was that incident where she ran away from the Cadmus."

"Head Louisa will never let the 3.33 chimera not compete." Roden glanced down at the center of the Stateroom and Dietrich followed his gaze. There was a debate going on between the four figures at the table. Dietrich watched his father's icy glare bore into Gereon, while Emilie smirked in triumph and Markus shook his head.

"Mother must've won an argument over Uncle," said Clare.

Dietrich sighed. "She does love winning."

"Careful," said Roden, grinning. "Every time you sigh, you lose three seconds of your life."

"Where did you hear that?" asked Dietrich.

"I'll never tell." A mischievous grin worked its way onto Roden's face.

"At the sports bar just down the road," said Clare. "Probably from the pretty waitress—what's her name? Lara?"

Roden's eyes narrowed. "How do you know that? You're too young to drink at a bar."

Clare smiled and turned her attention back to the front table. "Do you think they'll make a decision soon?"

"They took thirteen hours last time," said Dietrich.

"How hard can it be?" asked Roden. "You pick the five strongest chimeras and be done with it."

Dietrich rolled his eyes. "By that logic, Mother and I would be competing for the Warrior's Seat."

That was impossible, of course. While Dietrich and Emilie had two of the highest Tasking Numbers in the Aegon, their talents weren't suitable for combat. Dietrich's skills with a gun were slightly above average, and Emilie, who had a talent for healing, stayed as far away from weapons as possible.

Dietrich pulled his cellphone out of his jeans pocket and checked the time. Soon, Knute would be meeting with the sect of Those Who Name Themselves to which he'd been assigned. Knute had gotten a message from Caarina yesterday around noon, telling him to meet her outside Kinnunen's Conservatory at eight-thirty in the morning. At first, Knute had been thrilled to continue his infiltration, but as the reality sunk in, Knute had begun to panic so Dietrich had spent most of the afternoon playing the role of the encouraging friend. It wasn't a role he enjoyed.

"I'm predicting it now," said Roden. "Adam, Mikkel, Paul, Ytsen, and Thelma."

Dietrich shoved his phone back into his pocket. "Thelma won't make it past the first round. She's only a 2.50 chimera and she has poor tactical skills. Stefan is a weaker chimera, but he knows how to defeat more powerful opponents. I'd pick Stefan."

"Stefan doesn't have a chance against opponents like Sabine Leandre, Peter Oswalk, and Allison Tveit," said Roden.

"None of the Aegon really has a chance against them," said Dietrich. "Most of our chimera are better suited for espial and subterfuge."

"I could compete."

Clare spoke suddenly, causing both Roden and Dietrich to turn in their chairs to stare at their younger sister.

"Don't be stupid," said Roden. "You haven't even had your Tasking Ceremony yet."

Clare leaned over Dietrich to make sure that Roden saw her scowl. "I'm stronger than you. Adam and I were talking about it yesterday. I can fight with him on an even level, and my aim with a gun is far better than yours or Dietrich's."

Roden groaned. "Adam's been putting ideas in your head again."

Dietrich shook his head and feigned outrage. "I always knew he was a bad influence."

Grinning, Clare prodded Dietrich on the arm. "Adam wouldn't suggest I compete unless he was certain I was up to scratch."

Dietrich glanced at his sister. She had a spark of excitement in her green eyes; Adam's suggestion had really stuck with her. Clare was only twenty-one, but there was no rule that said the candidates had to be legal adults—fifty years ago, the Warrior's Seat had been won by a nineteen-year-old girl from the Cadmus. And Clare was a strong chimera, possibly stronger than both Adam and Dietrich.

Roden must have seen the decision in Dietrich's eyes, because he groaned and said, "Don't encourage her."

"If you want to compete," said Dietrich, ignoring Roden's comment. "You'd better go present yourself as a possible candidate. Give them something more to debate—because this hasn't gone on long enough."

A wide smile spread across Clare's face and she gave Dietrich a quick hug before getting to her feet.

Roden's eyes narrowed. "Don't even think about it."

"Wish me luck." Clare patted Roden on head and then headed down the aisle towards the table at center of the Stateroom. Emilie noticed Clare first and smiled as her daughter approached, but as Clare made known her request, Emilie's smile vanished. Soon, the four figures at the table were in a heated debate. From what Dietrich could tell, his father had no problem with Clare competing, while Gereon and Emilie were dead-set against it and Markus was undecided.

"So she's actually going to do it," said a smug voice.

Dietrich glanced at the aisle to his left and saw Adam, hands in the pockets of his jeans, grinning down the steps at Clare who was arguing vehemently with her mother. Adam was Dietrich's first cousin once removed, though everyone in the family just referred to him as "a cousin". According to Dietrich's sisters, Adam Aegon was boyishly handsome—as in, he was one of the most heinous players in Shion, but all it took was look at his innocent face and a woman would ignore every rumors she'd been told about him and jump his bones.

"Look who decided to show up this year," said Dietrich dryly. Thanks his eyes, Dietrich knew all about Adam's romantic conquests—including his relations with married women like Odila Aegon. That combined with the fact that Dietrich hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours meant Dietrich really wasn't in the mood to talk to Adam. Unfortunately, Adam wasn't going anywhere.

"Did you mother force you to attend again?"

"We've been here since midnight," said Dietrich.

Adam's eyebrows shot up. "You've been here for all eight hours?"

"And counting," said Roden. "Mother says that if she has to suffer through the debate, we do too."

"The record for the longest Selection Day debate in the Aegon is twenty-three hours," said Dietrich. "And they only stopped because they'd reached the deadline. I think they rolled dice to decide the last candidate."

"Do the other Houses have this much trouble?" asked Roden, sinking deeper into his seat.

"The Cadmus' candidates are decided pretty much solely by the Head," said Adam. "I don't know how long it takes the Leandre Council to decide. The reason we take so long is that we allow every member of the Aegon to have their say."

"What a pain," groaned Roden. "Why do we have to save the debate for today?"

"Tradition," said Adam. "Several hundred years ago, some old coot decided it'd be more interesting to decide everything in a day."

Roden snorted. "Stupid old coot."

"Adam, you actually bothered to show up this time."

Dietrich glanced over his shoulder and saw the salt-and-pepper hair, hazel eyes, and stocky figure of Karsten Geog, the possessor of the Master of Coin's Seat. Adam punched on the shoulder, Karsten returned the gesture, and then the two of them laughed.

"I just came to see if Clare would present herself as a potential candidate," said Adam, gesturing down to the center table where Clare was now trying to persuade Gereon. "How'd you manage to get away from work?"

"Cassandra practically kicked me out for the morning," said Karsten. "She said I should at least pretend to be surprised when you're announced as a candidate."

"Oh." Adam grinned. "I've been practicing my shocked expression in the mirror for the past few days. How am I doing?" Adam froze his face with his eyes wide and his mouth gaping open.

Karsten snorted. "Don't ever do that again."

"How'd it go?" asked Adam as Clare came back up the aisle steps. "Good news?"

"They're considering."

"That's not promising," said Roden. "They could just be 'considering' to humor you."

"Father wouldn't do that," said Clare. "If he's considering, then he's serious about letting me compete."

"You'll wipe the floor with the Leandre and the Cadmus," said Adam smugly.

Clare had been about to respond, but she was cut off by an announcement from the center table, telling everyone to settle in their seats.

"Well," said Karsten. "That was a fast consideration."

"Already?" asked Roden. "It's only been eight hours. This must be a record for the quickest decision the Aegon's ever made."

In the clamor to get to seats, Dietrich ended up with Roden to his left and Adam to his right, a situation that irked Dietrich to no end. At least Adam was quiet when Head Theodore began his speech on the importance of the Warrior's Seat and the selection process. The Stateroom became very still as over two-hundred chimera listened attentively.

"A member of the Aegon has not possessed the Warrior's Seat in over thirty years," said Head Theodore. "The Aegon's representatives have been chosen based on their Tasking Numbers, their skill, their experience, their dedication, and their loyalty. The first candidate selected is Adam Aegon."

The Stateroom was filled with tepid applause and Adam grinned smugly, not even bothering to use the surprised face he'd supposedly been practicing.

Dietrich listened halfheartedly as the Head listed off Adam's credentials. "Age thirty-six, Tasking Number 2.74, ability to create waves of unseen force, worked as an police officer in the Third District for six years and a police officer in the South District for seven years."

"I do love surprises," said Adam, cheerfully.

Dietrich snorted. "We're all shocked."

Adam reached out a hand to ruffle Dietrich's hair, but the look Dietrich gave Adam stopped him.

"You're terrifying, did you know that?" Adam leaned back in his seat. "A few words, a couple of subtle threats, and you could have half the Aegon trying to murder me."

Dietrich didn't bother to deny the obvious truth in Adam's words. Instead, he said, "You're lucky I'm very good at keeping secrets."

Adam grinned. "I know. You need anything, Dee, don't hesitate to ask."

Dietrich didn't respond, instead turning his attention back to his father. Even after eight exhausting hours of debate, Theodore still presented himself as the cold, flawless Head of the Aegon. His white shirt was tucked neatly into his slacks, his red tie hung perfectly straight, and not a single black hair was out of place. Dietrich almost over looked the purple shadows that had started to appear under Theodore's eyes.

"The second candidate selected," even the Head's voice was cold and flawless, "is Mikkel Nyland-Aegon."

Dietrich glanced across the Stateroom where a thin man with mousy hair and bright blue eyes was laughing with relief as the people next to him murmured their congratulations.

"Age thirty-three, Tasking Number 2.66, ability to influence movement, worked as a police officer in the Redwater District for ten years."

"No surprise," said Roden.

Adam scrunched his nose. "He looks as if he'd piss himself if he ever came face to face with Peter Oswalk."

"He lost to Peter Oswalk in the last Warrior's Seat Competition," said Karsten.

"I know," said Adam. "And he pissed himself with blood."

"Nice image there," said Clare, grinning.

Head Theodore plowed through the list as if to get it over with as soon as possible. "The third candidate selected is Paul Aegon. Age twenty-six, Tasking Number 2.64, ability to create light, worked as a police detective in the Third District for three years."

Paul Aegon sat two rows in front of Dietrich. His wife, Adele, wrapped an arm around his shoulders in congratulations.

Adam snorted. "He's a sissy. He only got picked because he has a 2.64 Tasking Number. I bet you he doesn't even know how to fire a gun."

The Head's voice cut through the murmurs of conversation. "The fourth candidate is Thelma Jahr-Aegon. Age thirty-six, 2.50 Tasking Number, ability to create unseen lightning, worked as a police officer in the Third District for three years and an Aegon bodyguard for ten years."

Dietrich shot Adam a warning glare. "If you say another word, I'll tell Ytsen you're sleeping with his wife."

Adam grinned and held a finger to his lips. It didn't matter, because Roden then said, "Thelma's useless. She just throws all her excess soul at whoever's standing in front of her and hopes she'll win."

Dietrich groaned. "Is it over yet?"

"Last one," said Roden.

Adam remained silent.

Head Theodore surveyed the Stateroom, his sharp eyes taking in everything. Dietrich could practically see the gears turning his father's mind as he evaluated all two-hundred chimera present. It was only when all side conversations had ceased and all attention was fixed on him that Head Theodore spoke, "The fifth candidate selected is Clare Aegon. Age twenty, Tasking Number not yet measured, ability to create illusions."

Dietrich glanced over at his sister. Grinning, she leaned over Karsten to give Adam a celebratory high-five.

Dietrich scanned the Stateroom and saw expressions of shock and outrage on the faces of some of the chimera. It didn't take a genius to figure out what they were thinking. Not only hadn't Clare entered the Tasking Chamber yet but she was also the daughter of a half-foreigner. Someone with laqui blood couldn't represent the Aegon.

Dietrich smirked at their outraged faces. They could protest as much as they liked. It was Selection Day. All decisions made were final.

* * *

**Two**

Knute stuffed his hands in his pockets and tried not to look suspicious as the foreigner surveyed him quietly. The foreigner's brown face and oily hair set Knute on edge. Even if the man spoke with an accent from the South District and was dressed in a simple gray suit that could be bought from a clothing store in Shion, his face was that of a ciosaolean—and Knute could never fully trust a ciosaolean.

They were standing in the garage of the foreigner's house. The garage was empty except for a wooden table with about ten white, plastic chairs around it. Most of the chairs were filled. Other than Letta, who sat at the end of the table with a laptop open, Knute didn't recognize any of them. The group had been talking in low murmurs until Caarina had stepped in through side door with Knute in tow. Immediate, all conversations died and the sect members had turned to stare at Knute, sizing him up.

As the host, the foreigner was the only one who had gotten to his feet and moved to welcome Knute to the sect. The foreigner was half-a-head taller than Knute with a mean glint to his eyes. Knute glanced helplessly at Caarina, before he remembered that she was a half-ciosaolean. Knute took a mental note—the Self-Named were welcoming of foreigners.

A wide grin spread across the foreigner's face, revealing a set of white teeth. "So was Raoul Leandre really as scary as they say or has he been riding off rumors this whole time?"

Knute's mouth was dry. He fought every instinct to run away from the foreigner, and said, "He was just as big as the rumors said."

Laughing, the foreigner wrapped one arm around Knute's shoulders—Knute suppressed a flinch—and steered him towards the table.

"Welcome to Pearson's sect. I'm your sect leader, Viktor Pearson. Hm. Let's see. You've already met Caarina."

"I'm Rahel." A young woman with brown hair and ash-gray eyes leaned forward to wave at Knute.

"Don't interrupt me during introductions or I'll lose my place."

Viktor ushered Knute into a chair before settling himself into the seat at the head of the table. Viktor went down the row, throwing out names of the sect members until Knute was dizzy with trying to remember them all. Then, before Knute could register all his new acquaintances, the side door opened and a bald man carrying several boxes of pastries entered the garage, calling out, "Brunch has arrived." The boxes of sweet pastries were spread out across the table and sect members tore into them. Viktor was nothing but courteous. He made sure that Knute had a donut before taking his own and he even offered to get Knute a cup of coffee, which Knute politely declined.

"So where do you get your talent from, Knute?" asked Viktor.

Knute had just taken a large bite of a donut, so he took his time answering. Was it supposed to be some sort of trick question? Didn't all chimera get their talents from the Ancestor?

"I get mine from my father," said Rahel. "We have different talents though. I can only create a few colorful lights, but he can restrain people's excess soul."

Knute eyes widened, not having to feign his surprise. "I don't know where my talent comes from. Both my ma and da are of the People. Same with my grandparents."

Viktor nodded sympathetically. "My da was of the People, but my ma was a necromancer from Ciosaoles. It's from my da's side that I get my talent—even though he has none. Thankfully, I didn't inherit my ma's abilities."

Knute opened his mouth to ask about the ciosaolean necromancers, when the bald man to Knute's right spoke, ""My mother's mother was a weak Nameless chimera."

"Good thing strength isn't inherited." Viktor turned to Knute and added, "Aage is one of our strongest chimeras—I bet if he had a Number it'd be higher than Sabine Leandre's."

Knute highly doubted that, but he tried to appear impressed.

Rahel released a fit of laughter. "He couldn't fight Sabine Leandre even on his best day and Sabine's worst."

"I'd like to think I could," said Aage.

"I'm trying to keep you realistic," said Rahel. "So you don't start any stupid fights."

The table roared with laughter and Rahel reached for another donut. She winked at Knute as she sat back down.

Julia, a plump woman with graying hair, suddenly let out a squawk of surprise. All heads turned to the end of the table where Julia and Letta were staring at the laptop screen.

"The Aegon has just announced their five candidates," said Letta.

Yesterday, Dietrich had been complaining that Emilie Mathilde-Aegon always forced her children to attend the selection. For Dietrich's sake, Knute was glad the selection had only taken eight hours.

"Who is it?" asked Aage.

Letta read the names off the computer screen. "Adam Aegon, Mikkel Nyland-Aegon, Paul Aegon, Thelma Jahr-Aegon, and Clare Aegon."

Clare Aegon. Dietrich had mentioned his youngest sister and few times and Knute had listened in on her phone call to Dietrich once. Knute suddenly imagined a younger, female version of Dietrich facing Dani and her unseen fire in the stadium. A shiver of pity ran down Knute's spine.

"Adam Aegon and Mikkel Nyland-Aegon were givens," said Aage, sitting back in his chair.

Rahel frowned. "Isn't Clare Aegon underage?"

"There's no law against it," said Viktor.

Knute glanced around the table where the twenty members of Pearson's Sect were all eagerly discussing the Aegon's candidates. Knute struggled to suppress his frown. Why were the Self-Named so excited about the Houses' candidates? Shouldn't the Self-Named be fighting against the Houses?

"What's on your mind, newbie?" asked Olov, a ginger-haired man sitting on the opposite side of the table.

Knute hesitated. It seemed like an innocent enough topic, so he said, "I just thought you'd be more, uh, anti-Houses."

Olov snorted. "Of course, we're anti-Houses, but that doesn't mean we can't appreciate a competition between elite chimera."

"Besides." Rahel stretched her arms over her head. "We have Sindre."

"Who?"

"All the Self-Named voted yesterday," said Olov. "And we've been campaigning all season. That's why we're gathered here today. To see if Sindre Pavind gets chosen as the People's candidate."

Knute blinked. "Is Sindre Pavind one of the Self-Named?"

"Of course," said Viktor. "Our strongest."

"He's always been one of our more outspoken members," said Rahel. "A few years ago, the Leandre made an offer, but he rejected them outright. Because even if he was one of the strongest chimera alive, they'd always see him as the Nameless chimera from the slums. Sindre wants absolute equality between all chimera. He won't settle for anything less."

Knute kept his mouth shut. Sindre was an idiot. He had no idea how many people would kill to be made an offer by the Leandre. It was better to be an antipathized member of the Houses than be trapped in the slums for the rest of his life.

Letta took the last donut from one of the boxes. "Do you think we'll get to see a rematch of Lady Sabine Leandre and Peter Oswalk?"

"I hope so," said Aage. "Last time was intense."

"You mean terrifying." Julia shuddered. "Some of those House chimera are monstrous."

"They're chimera, the same as you and me," said Viktor. "The only thing that makes them seem monstrous is the amount of power the Houses give them.

"You know who's monstrous," said Rahel. "Allison Tveit."

Knute coughed, trying and failing to hold back a laugh. When Rahel's eyes flickered to him, Knute managed a weak smile. "She's insane."

"A 3.33 Tasking Number is insane," said Rahel, not getting Knute's meaning. "My father jut about flipped a table when he heard about it."

"Your father?" asked Knute.

"Niklas Pehr," said Viktor smugly.

The name had no meaning to Knute. He glanced around the table at the members of Pearson's Sect, who were all looking at him as though he should revere the ground this man walked on. Eyes widened when they realized that Knute had no idea who Niklas Pehr was.

Finally, Julia decided to put Knute out of his misery. She leaned forward and said, gently, "He's one of the founders."

Knute stiffened. One of the founders of the Self-Named, the very same founders who had imprisoned Dani's soul for the past twenty-three years. And there was Knute, sitting in a garage and eating pastries, with Niklas Pehr's daughter.

* * *

**Three**

Allison Tveit stared at the elegant serpent paperweight on the Head's desk. She would rather stare into the snake's garnet eyes than meet the sharp gaze of Head Louisa Cadmus. Allison had been sleeping when, at ten minutes to nine, her cellphone rang with a message from the Head's secretary, Catherine—the Head requested a meeting at nine o'clock that morning. Allison had rummaged through her closet, thrown on a yellow dress and white heeled-shoes, and sprinted to the Head's office. She'd only been late for the meeting by six minutes, but those six minutes were an eternity according to Head Louisa.

Allison shifted in the rigid, black-velvet chair. Finally, she lifted her eyes.

For the past few minutes, the Head had sat on the other side of the clawfoot desk, sipping tea and saying nothing. Allison hadn't figured out if she was supposed to speak first or if the Head was punishing her for being late. The confusion was tearing at Allison and she fidgeted nervously under the Head's gaze.

"You wanted to talk to me," said Allison when she could bear the silence no longer.

"Yes. The competition for the Warrior's Seat is approaching."

Allison felt something turn over in her stomach. Of course. She had known it was coming, but she'd become preoccupied with the Dani situation and had completely forgotten. Dani. The one who would have to participate in the Warrior's Competition was Dani. But would Dani want to participate?

Allison was frozen in place, her hands gripping the armrests of the chair as she listened to each word the Head said.

"As you know, the Cadmus is permitted to select five candidates for the Warrior's Seat. I have weighed all my options, looked at the abilities of each of my chimera, and I have decided that you are to be one of our representatives."

Allison's throat was dry. Should she agree? Should she refuse? Shouldn't Dani be the one answering the Head. Why was Allison still in control of the body? Shouldn't Dani take over and tell the Head that she would never represent the Cadmus? What was Allison supposed to do?

Desperately, Allison tried to release control of the body, but she wasn't a chimera and she didn't have such control over her soul. Dani wasn't taking change, which meant Allison was supposed to answer the Head. But what was Allison supposed to say? Yes? But didn't Dani hate the Cadmus? Dani wouldn't want to represent the Cadmus. So should Allison refuse? Would the Head let her refuse? Would Allison and Dani be forced to participate in the Warrior's Seat Competition?

Suddenly, Allison was struck with the image of Dani possessing the Warrior's Seat. Dani was violent and temperamental. She hated the Houses. She hated the Self-Named. The idea of Dani possessing power in the government, even if it was the limited power of the Warrior's Seat, was frightening.

No. Dani couldn't possess the Seat. Allison wouldn't let her.

Taking a deep breath, Allison tried to recall all her lessons on how to politely refuse someone. "Head Louisa, I am honored by your decision to name me a candidate. The Cadmus is my home and I will serve the Cadmus until my dying breath. However, it is for that very reason that I cannot represent the Cadmus in the Warrior's Seat Competition."

Allison bit her bottom lip as the office filled the Head's quiet rage.

Head Louisa clasped her bony hands in her lap and said, "Lord Johnathan and I found you when you were homeless. We took you in, saving you from an orphanage in the slums. The Cadmus raised you, paid for you to enter the Tasking Chamber, and arranged your engagement to the heir. You are a legal adult now, which means the time has come for you to repay the Cadmus for all that we have done for you. You are a member of the Cadmus, Allison, which means that the Cadmus's success is your success, the Cadmus's glory is your glory, and the Cadmus's failures are your failures."

Allison's throat was dry. She knew all of that. She knew how much she owed the Cadmus. But Dani couldn't possess the Warrior's Seat. Allison found her voice somewhere deep inside her. "I can't compete."

"You can't?"

The icy tone shot through Allison's chest. Her face drained of all color and her heart was pounding, but still, Allison said, "I can't."

"Would you care to explain?" The Head set her teacup down and placed her hands neatly in her lap.

"I can't. I can't compete and I can't explain to you why I can't compete. But you must know—"

"You have a duty to the Cadmus." Head Louisa's voice shook with fury on the last syllable. "Did all those pretty speeches delude you? You are not my grandchild. You are a Nameless. You were an orphaned child who killed your own parents. But I took you in. I saved you from poverty and loneliness. I gave you a home and food and an education. These things were not given out of charity. I took you in for the sake of my House and the power you could bring us. Do not think you have the luxury of refusing to me. You are here to serve and to serve alone. Do you understand?"

"I can't. I am not saying this for fun—when I say I can't, I mean that I can't." Allison bit the insides of cheeks. She was doing her duty; she was trying to protect the Cadmus.

"Allison Tveit, you are a chimera of the Cadmus and—"

"But I'm not," cried Allison. "I'm not."

The serpent paperweight flew from the desk. Allison screamed and threw her arms up in front of her face as the stone smashed into her hands, grazing against her forehead. Allison fell to the wooden floor with a heavy crash, the chair and the serpent paperweight coming down with her.

For a moment, Allison lay on the floor, her hands clasped to her forehead. She was afraid to move, afraid that the Head would strike again if Allison showed any signs of resistance. She heard the sound of a chair scraping against the wood floor as Head Louisa rose from her seat and walked around the desk to stand over Allison.

"Get up." Head Louisa's voice was quivering with emotion. "Get up and do not argue with me again."

Allison pulled her hands away from her face and saw drops of red blood on the fingertips of her left hand.

"You are pathetic," said Head Louisa. "You have an immense power and yet you won't even use it to defend yourself."

"I can't," repeated Allison.

"You can and you will fight in for Warrior's Seat." Head Louisa took a shuddering breath. "And you had better win."

A sudden white-hot rage burned through Allison's chest. She pushed off the ground and got to her feet, ignoring the dizzy pain that shot through her head. Her chest was tight as she turned around and left the office, pausing in the doorway just long enough to say, "As the Ancestor wishes it, so it shall be."

* * *

**Four**

Peter Oswalk arrived outside the Head's office just as Allison Tveit was leaving. The door swung open with such force that both Peter and Catherine could only gawk Allison stormed from the office. Peter hesitated when he saw that the gash on the left side of her forehead. For a second, he imaged Dani, all arrogance and temper, driving the Head to violence. Peter opened his mouth to say something to Dani, but Allison carried on past him, as though he were a shadow. She made a right turn at the end of the hall and disappeared from sight.

Peter stared. "Well, that must have been some meeting."

Catherine shifted nervously at her desk. "The Head is ready for you now."

"So I see."

Peter pushed open the double doors that Allison had just exited. He stepped into the Head's office, which was still in disarray from Allison's visit. Peter felt a wave of malicious glee wash over him as he surveyed the black-velvet chair that lay upturned on the floor next to the hideous stone serpent paperweight that Head Louisa loved so much. Peter decided to congratulate Allison on successfully trashing the Head's office.

"Redecorating?" asked Peter.

"Hardly." Head Louisa sat down in her leather armchair and clasped her bony hands in her lap. "Allison Tveit is having her rebellious phase."

Head Louisa stared at Peter expectantly. Peter raised his eyebrows, wondering what the Head wanted him to do about Allison's rebellious phase.

Finally, Head Louisa snapped, "Well? Are you going to clean it up?"

"Oh." Peter glanced down at the chair, the paperweight, and the scattered droplets of blood. Part of him wanted to tell Head Louisa to clean the damn mess up herself, but Peter had more self-control than that. He pulled the chair to an upright position and placed the serpent paperweight back on the desk. He decided he'd leave Allison's blood on the floor for someone else to clean, so he sat down in the chair and smiled at Head Louisa. "Your secretary called. I am here. What do you need of me, Head?"

Head Louisa stared at Peter, most likely debating whether to punish him for his attitude or not.

For a moment, Peter regretted his tone. In the seasons following Lord Johnathan's death, Peter had gone through, what Head Louisa called, his rebellious phase. At his lowest point, Head Louisa had locked him in the Tasking Chamber overnight. A shudder ran down Peter's spine as the memories came back to him. That wasn't an experience he wanted to repeat.

Head Louisa must have forgiven him for his insolence, because she broke the silence and said, "I have decided to name you a candidate for the Warrior's Seat Competition."

Peter's mouth twitched into a half-smile. "I'm shocked."

"No one finds your sarcasm amusing. You must accept before I write your name down."

Two parts warred within Peter. One side wanted to tell Louisa to fuck off, while the other side was determined to serve the Cadmus. Finally, through gritted teeth, Peter said, "Of course, I'll fulfill my duty—I always wish to serve the Head of the Cadmus to the best of my abilities. I accept this opportunity wholeheartedly."

Head Louisa plucked her teacup from its spot on the desk. She took a dainty sip and pretended she couldn't hear the edge that lay beneath Peter's words.

"Who else have you selected?" asked Peter. "Robert, Neal, Levi, Allison?"

Head Louisa's brow furrowed, making her seem a decade older than her seventy years. "Allison Tveit refuses to participate."

Peter didn't even bother to hide his laughter. "Why?"

"She won't say."

"That rebellious phase can be a real bitch."

Head Louisa's upper lip curled back into a sneer.

Peter gripped the arm of his chair, all reservations forgotten. "You want my advice? You could at least pretend to be likeable."

Head Louisa smiled at Peter. It wasn't a genuine smile, but it was probably the closest thing Peter had seen on her since the day Lord Johnathan died.

"You really hate me," said Louisa.

"More than anything."

* * *

**Five**

Michael groaned and leaned back in the office chair. He stared at the computer screen, reading the last sentence of a lengthy report concerning the Cadmus' investment in the hydroelectric power plant on the west side of Lake Lycia. Ever since he had been named the heir, Michael's workload had increased immensely. He had only just begun to appreciate the fact that he had various departments within the Cadmus to which he could distribute some of the workload.

Enjoying the moment of freedom, Michael stretched his arms over his head and admired his new, polished office for the first time. Adrianna had helped him move in a couple days ago and his office had gone from being empty to filled with a mahogany desk, a widescreen computer monitor, and a handcrafted flat weave rug (Adrianna's choice). Michael ran his fingers through his already messy blond hair and breathed a sigh of relief. Years of hard work were finally paying off.

He leaned forward, getting ready to forward the report, when his office door opened and Allison Tveit walked in.

She stood there for a moment, staring at Michael through those wide, glassy blue eyes of hers. Her shoulders were trembling ever so slightly and her breathing came in quick pants as if she'd just been running. She seemed to be on the edge of saying something as her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Then, Michael noticed the deep cut on the left side of her forehead.

"Oh shit," he said, getting to his feet. "What happened?"

"I can't," gasped Allison. "I can't do it."

"What?" Michael grabbed some tissues out of the box on his desk.

"You have to talk to her. You're her grandson and heir. She has to listen to you. Tell her. Tell her I can't do it."

Michael had enough on his plate without having to deal with his hysterical fiancée. He placed his hands on her quivering shoulders. "Calm down. Breathe. I can't help you unless you explain everything clearly."

Allison stopped gasping, at least. Michael released her and then held the tissues to her bleeding temple. The gash wasn't as bad as it first appeared. He didn't think she'd need stiches.

"What happened to your head?"

Allison closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and said, "The Head threw a paperweight at my head."

"The one shaped like a snake?" Michael couldn't believe it. His grandmother loved that paperweight—she wouldn't risk damaging it.

"I think it might have been an accident." Allison opened her eyes. "I think I pushed her too far and she accidently let lose her excess soul."

"And you got hit in the head with a stone paperweight?"

Allison nodded.

She took the dirty tissues from him and Michael moved to the desk to get more. Michael didn't like bending over backwards to keep the Head complacent, but it was something most Cadmus chimera had learned to do from a young age. Allison, who hadn't shown many signs of her talent before her Tasking Ceremony, had been a popular target for the Head's frustrations. Michael had once watched Allison skillfully apologize her way out of a punishment; she knew how to handle the Head. If Allison had upset Head Louisa to the point of losing control, she had good reason for it.

Michael dabbed at Allison's forehead with the fresh tissues. "Grandmother really shouldn't bludgeon my fiancée."

"She wanted me to compete for the Warrior's Seat," said Allison softly. "And I refused."

Michael had to reconsider his opinions of his future wife's intelligence. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with the back of his right hand and said, "Why did you refuse?"

Allison grabbed his wrist, forcing Michael to meet her eyes. He was surprised to see that they'd lost their glassy look and were now filled with determination.

"I can't tell you," said Allison. "But you have to understand, I'm loyal to the Cadmus. I need you understand. The Cadmus is my family and I will do anything for the sake of the Cadmus. And that's why I can't compete."

She was looking at him with those big, blue eyes and Michael was certain that there was something he was supposed to say to comfort her, but he couldn't think of a damn thing. He could only stand there and stare at his future wife.

Allison stiffened suddenly, her eyes widening in shock. "No."

"What?" Michael grasped her wrist.

Allison's eyes started to roll back and her legs gave out beneath her. Michael darted a hand forward to catch her before she hit the ground. A second later though, Allison regained her balance and pushed Michael's arm away. She lifted her head and her sharp, blue eyes met his. He recoiled at the sudden harshness in her gaze, but a moment later, he thought he had imagined it.

Allison smiled sweetly. "Sorry. The head wound must be worse than I thought."

Michael stared. "Are you all right?"

"No," said Allison with a short, shaky laugh. "I'm freaking out over nothing."

It took Michael a moment to follow her train of thought. "The Warrior's Seat Competition?"

Allison grinned, an expression that seemed so un-Allison like that Michael was taken aback for a moment. Then, he caught sight of her hands, which were trembling violently. Allison saw where Michael was looking and her hands curled into fists.

Through gritted teeth, Allison said, "Tell the Head, I'll compete. I'll win the damn Seat—so she can stop throwing paperweights at me."

Without sparing a second glance for Michael, Allison turned around and briskly walked out of his office, her blonde hair dancing between her shoulder blades as she walked

Michael watched as the office door swung shut behind her, In the end, he gave up trying to make sense of the conversation he'd just had and collapsed back into his chair. He reached for his cellphone and searched for the Head's number.

* * *

**Six**

Dani tried to release control, but her hands were shaking and she barely keep up the barriers around her soul, let alone switch places with Allison. Dani pressed a fist to her mouth to smother the whimpering noises she was making. Dani didn't want to be there. She didn't want to be in control of the body. She didn't want to be inside the Cadmus Mansion. She hated the Cadmus. She'd burn them all to the ground.

Seventeen fucking years of watching them. Of watching Lord Johnathan welcome Allison to the Cadmus. Of watching Allison attend their father's funeral pyre. Of watching Nathaniel and Allison attend lessons together. Of watching Allison try to find a well of power that wasn't there. Of watching the Head light to her husband's funeral pyre. Of watching Peter Oswalk transform into a savage dog. Of watching Adrianna pretend she was a chimera. Of watching Margaret and Robert try to turn their son into something he's not. Of watching Sarah and Samuel push their son to his limits. Of watching Michael and Nathaniel envy one another from a distance. Of watching Head Louisa try to bring out Allison's nonexistent talent. Of watching people call out Allison's name and watching Allison answer. Of watching people go about their lives, not knowing Dani existed, trapped and helpless in her own body.

Her back pressed to the wall, Dani slowly slid down until she was sitting on the floor of the hallway with her knees pulled up to her chest and her fists pressed against her eyes.

She didn't want to be in the Cadmus Mansion. She'd always given Allison control of the body when they had to return—anything to avoid setting foot on the grounds long than necessary. She'd barely managed to hold it together when she'd taken control to stop Allison telling Nathaniel and she'd been shaking the entire time she'd talked to Peter Oswalk at the pool. Peter had said she was a terrible actor. He didn't know the half of it. She was the best fucking actor in the world that she hadn't fallen to pieces in front of him.

It all Allison's fault. Allison didn't want Dani to compete for the Warrior's Seat, so she'd fought with the Head. That was fine. Dani knew the Head would never let Allison refuse. But then Allison had gone to Michael, and Michael had believed Allison. He'd been about to agree, to help her convince the Head to let her not compete. Dani had held out as long as she could—she wouldn't take control of the body, she wouldn't stand on Cadmus grounds any more than she had to—but Allison had forced her. Allison had been about to ruin everything.

"Fuck," Dani hissed. "You parasite, I'm trying to save us."

Her breaths came in strangled gasps that grated against her throat. Her mouth tasted like salt and her cheeks were wet.

So that's what it felt like. What it felt like to break down. The feeling was really different when she had a body that could tremble and cry.

"Allison?"

Dani stiffened and she slowly lifted her head from her hands. She stared up at the small figure of Adrianna Cadmus, who was clutching the strap of her blue purse and leaning over Dani, concern flitting through her brown eyes. In that moment, Dani had never hated anyone as much as she hated Adrianna.

"Are you okay?" Adrianna's voice soft and soothing. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Fine." Dani ignored the thickness in her voice as she pushed off the ground and got to her feet. Her eyes still stung with tears and her hands were still shaking. However, Dani lifted her chin and said, "I don't need anything from you."

Adrianna actually took a step back when she heard the disdain in Dani's tone. She swallowed. "Do you need me to get Nathaniel?"

"No."

Dani couldn't stand another second on the Cadmus grounds. She couldn't stand to be around these people one second longer. She gave Adrianna one last vicious glare before pushing past and starting down the hall towards the nearest exit.

Dani didn't care that she was underdressed for the weather. She didn't care that her makeup was smudged and her nose was running. She didn't care that she wasn't even pretending to be Allison. Dani just needed to get away from the Cadmus. Get away before she decided to forget her sister and burn them all to the ground.

* * *

**Seven**

The members of Pearson's Sect were surprisingly ordinary. They argued over the last slice of pizza, they drank beer and soda, they told inappropriate jokes, and gossiped over the members of the Houses just like any of the People. To hang out with them, they seemed like a group of regular friends getting together for a Selection Day party.

It was approaching one in the afternoon, and neither the Cadmus nor the Leandre had announced their five candidates yet. Knute didn't mind. Over the past four hours, he'd learned a lot about the sect. Aage Engman was a police officer who had joined the Self-Named five years ago with his brother-in-law, Jens Pedersen. Letta Boysen worked at a clothing store and had the weak ability to mask her presence. Olov Berg, who had the ability to see the colors of hostile emotions, worked at the port for one of the big fishing companies. Rahel Pehr and Caarina Macris had been childhood friends even though one was from the North District and one was from the Riverend District. Julia Naess had joined the sect ten years ago after her son had been forcibly adopted by the Leandre and eventually married to Aimee Leandre.

Bit by bit, little by little, Knute learned about the members of Pearson's Sect. He stored each fact in his memory, wondering if the information might be useful later when the Aegon decided how to deal with the Self-Named.

Letta swallowed a bite of pizza and said, "I love red hair. All of Emilie Mathilde-Aegon's children have red hair and I'm jealous."

"I have red hair." Olov pointed to the curling mop of ginger on his head.

"You have orange hair," said Rahel. "There's a difference, you know."

"Please," said Olov. "Dietrich Aegon's red hair is dyed."

"Are you saying that Emilie Mathilde-Aegon and all her children dye their hair?" asked Caarina.

Olov made a face. "The red hair's unnatural."

"A lot of people from Laque have hair that color," said Viktor.

"Really?" Julia leaned forward in her seat. "When did you have time to visit Laque?"

"My ma visited Laque once," said Viktor. "She said there was a mountain city run by a red-haired family who knew the healing arts."

Letta reached for another slice of pizza. "Is that where Lady Emilie Mathilde-Aegon comes from then?"

"I suppose so."

"It's strange that the Head of the Aegon married a half-foreigner," said Olov. "If I came home with a half-foreign wife, my parents would kick me out on the street." He paused and grinned across the table at the two foreigners present. "No offense, Viktor, Caarina."

"I'm used to it," said Viktor amiably.

Caarina's expression wasn't nearly so forgiving.

Julia released an exaggerated sigh. "It's a shame Dietrich Aegon's part-laqui."

"I don't care," said Letta. "That man is fine."

Knute suppressed a groan. "My sisters say the same thing."

Chiara laughed. "Your sisters have good taste."

"You know who I've always thought was hot?" said Olov, leaning back in his seat. "Sabine Leandre."

Aage, Viktor, and the rest of the men around the table nodded in agreement. Knute remembered the pictures he'd seen of Lady Sabine Leandre and couldn't help but agree.

"It's a shame," said Olov.

"What's a shame?" asked Knute.

Almost instant, the entire atmosphere in the garage changed. Rahel and Caarina exchanged nervous glances, while Olov was suddenly occupied with removing the pepperoni from a slice of pizza. Viktor shifted uncomfortably in his seat and Julia rose to get refill her plastic cup with soda. Knute looked around the room, taking in every single one of the sect members who suddenly wouldn't meet his gaze.

Viktor coughed.

"Ah!" cried Letta. "The Cadmus have announced their candidates."

Instantly, the excitement returned to the garage as everyone turned to listen to Letta read aloud the list of candidates. "Peter Oswalk."

"No surprises there," said Caarina.

"Allison Tveit, Robert Cadmus, Neal Cadmus, and Levi Joakim-Cadmus."

Knute blinked. So Dani had agreed to represent the Cadmus. That didn't seem like Dani. She hated the Cadmus, hated them to a degree that would put the Self-Named to shame.

"I can't believe Levi Joakim-Cadmus would agree to participate." Rahel's voice was strained with anger.

"Why not?" asked Viktor, helping himself to the last piece of pizza.

"Tekla Valden."

At the sound of that one name, the entire sect fell silent. Knute's eyes widened and he tried to appear innocently interested as the sect members spoke.

"Is it true?" asked Julia in a hushed voice. "Did Peter Oswalk really kill the Tekla Valden?"

Rahel nodded. "But do you know who was being interviewed by Aunt Tekla when Peter Oswalk killed her?"

Knute listened intently. So Rahel had known Tekla Valden personally—well, she would considering her father was Niklas Pehr. Knute's eyes flickered to the right and he saw that Caarina was watching Rahel talk with a disapproving scowl. Clearly, someone didn't approve of over-sharing.

"Who?" asked Olov.

"Jarle Joakim," said Rahel. "Levi Joakim-Cadmus' younger brother."

Mouths opened and incredulously glances were exchanged. Finally, Letta leaned forward and asked, "Why would Levi Joakim-Cadmus represent the Cadmus then?"

Julia snorted. "Once the Houses sink their claws into you, there's no escape."

Letta immediately reached out and wrapped an arm around Julia's shoulders. Knute frowned until he remember what Julia had said about the Cadmus handing her money and threats until she agreed to give them her son Cathal.

"It's not the individuals," said Caarina suddenly. "That's what my brother says. Levi and Cathal, they're only tools of a system. All these names that we hear today—Peter Oswalk, Allison Tveit, Clare Aegon, Adam Aegon, Robert Cadmus, even Dietrich Aegon—they've molded since their youth to serve the Houses. The Houses are a system that has been in place for over a thousand years. Why do you think the Aegon clings to its polygamous practices? Why do you think the title of Head is still inherited? Why do you think the Houses are so exclusive? Because no one has challenged them in over a thousand years. The system has always been in their favor, so the Houses see no need to change it." Caarina paused for a breath. "Don't blame the individuals. They're trapped in the system just as much as we are."

A silence had settled over the table. Knute glanced around and saw that the lighthearted attitude was gone, replaced by faces of grim determination.

"The House chimera may be trapped," muttered Olov. "But I'd rather be trapped in their place than in mine."

Chiara scowled. "You'd rather have your parents murdered so the Cadmus can adopt you and train you to be their errand boy?"

Olov opened his mouth to respond, but he was cut off by the deep, smooth voice of Viktor. "We are all chimera, we are all descendants of the first, great Chimera. The members of the Houses are our brothers and sisters. We will liberate them from the system that chains us all. For the first time in a thousand years, the chimera will all be equal."

* * *

**Eight**

Raoul Leandre fought back the urge to sigh as he looked around the table at the Council. Lady Sabine was in a bad mood, her arms folded stiffly across her chest and her lips pursed with stubbornness. Head Marcel was exhausted, deep lines appearing beneath his eyes, as he slouched back in his seat. Ignace Leandre, the master of legal affairs, was checking his cellphone, a faint smirk on his lips as he read the message. Richaud Leandre, master of education, looked bored, his chin propped up on his right hand as he surveyed the Head and Lady. Eloi Leandre, master of the treasury, was sipping a cup of tea. He smiled congenially when he caught Raoul watching him and Raoul returned the grin. Bonnaire Mannes, master of defense, had a thick scowl on his face as he watched Marcel type on the laptop. Finally, there was Bastien, who sat at the back of the room next to Raoul, a cup of black coffee in his hands and deep shadows around his eyes.

Raoul suppressed the urge to yawn. They'd been debating for the past sixteen hours and still no conclusion had been reached.

"Let's go from the top again," said Marcel. There was a collective groan amongst the council members; Marcel liked to go over things from the top.

Marcel looked down at the laptop screen and read his notes aloud. "Sabine is definitely a candidate."

"Are you certain you can defeat Allison Tveit?" asked Eloi.

"Of course." Sabine's eyes sharpened with dislike. She'd answered the same question multiple times in the past sixteen hours. "I'm a seasoned fighter. I've won this competition twice before."

"If Sabine can't defeat Allison Tveit," said Ignace, putting away his cellphone, "Who can we expect to defeat her?"

"I'm not questioning Sabine's candidacy," said Eloi. "What I am asking is this—is there a point to anyone else competing if you can't defeat Allison Tveit?"

"I can defeat her," repeated Sabine. "I'm sure Peter Oswalk is capable of beating her. Adam Aegon too. Allison Tveit has been shut up in the Cadmus Mansion for most of her life. She has no experience. Adam, Peter, and I have been fighting in this competition for years. We know what to expect."

"Allison Tveit isn't reliable."

All eyes turned to Ignace, who was reclined in his seat, rubbing his stiff lower back.

"I've heard from certain sources," said Ignace. "That Allison Tveit was slow to reveal her talent. There was the incident with her childhood home and the Tasking Chamber, but she never showed any signs of possessing talent during her lessons."

Raoul frowned. He and Sabine could never figure out where Ignace got his endless supply of information.

"That's good news for us," said Richaud.

"We must agree upon five candidates despite Allison Tveit's Tasking Number," said Marcel wearily. "Sabine is a definite. Who else?"

"Bastien is our next strongest chimera," said Richaud, nodding at the corner of the room where the taciturn bodyguard sat. "But his talents are not made for direct combat."

"Then there's Fabrice." Eloi took a sip of tea. "But he works as an errand boy and I'd like to keep him away from the cameras."

Marcel added a note to his laptop and then said, "There's Ragnar Kvaldheim-Leandre. His talent certainly lends itself to direct combat."

Bonnaire snorted. "Are we even questioning Ragnar's participation? He has always participated in the competition."

"And he's lost to Peter Oswalk every time." A smirk played at the corners of Ignace's mouth.

"Ragnar is one of the most capable chimera I've ever seen," said Bonnaire.

"There's Tessan Riis-Leandre," said Marcel.

Bonnaire scowled. "She's not aggressive enough."

"She's plenty aggressive when she wants to be," said Sabine.

"She has no tactical skills whatsoever," insisted Bonnaire.

Sabine's eyes narrowed and Bonnaire gritted his teeth. Marcel, Raoul was relieved to see, had the sense to interrupt them by saying, "We'll put a question mark next to Tessan's name for now. What about Kaare Sivertsen-Leandre?"

"I like Kaare," said Richaud.

"Earnest and hardworking," said Bonnaire, leaning back in his seat. "I vote yes."

"Me too. He has excellent taste in tea. He introduced me to this ginger tea that is superb." Eloi held up his cup of tea as if this proved everything.

Raoul fought to hold back his scowl. Kaare made no secret of his support for Eloi, Richaud, and Bonnaire's policies. He considered Head Marcel to be "unrealistic and naïve".

"Kaare is impulsive," said Sabine. "He loses control of his excess soul too often."

Marcel nodded, making notes on his laptop. "Tessan is much more reliable."

"Perhaps both Tessan and Kaare could compete," said Ignace. "They are our only other combat-oriented Leandre chimera left who have over 2.50 Tasking Numbers."

"The candidates are not required to have high Tasking Numbers," said Bonnaire stiffly. "By the Ancestor, Clare Aegon hasn't even passed through the Chamber and she has been selected as a candidate."

Ignace yawned. "Tessan and Kaare have equal odds of winning the Seat—which is to say none. I suggest we select them both and they can exhaust some of the tougher candidates to increase Sabine's chances of winning."

Raoul's eyes narrowed. He could never tell whose side Ignace was on.

"We still have one last slot to fill," said Richaud.

Marcel checked his laptop. "Our next possible candidate is Vivill Magnessun-Leandre with a 2.47 Tasking Number."

"She's too old," said Eloi.

Sabine crossed her arms over her chest. "She's only fifty-one."

"She's older than me," said Richaud. "And that's too old."

"We have Adaline Runde-Leandre," said Marcel.

"She's in the hospital," muttered Ignace, while Eloi and Bonnaire exchanged sharp glances.

Marcel paled and quickly checked the list again. "The next highest Tasking Number is a 2.32—which belongs to Richaud Leandre."

Marcel glanced across the table where Richaud snorted with laughter and said, "Don't even think about it."

"Why not?" Sabine leaned forward, her brown eyes glittering with frustration. "You don't want to fight me in front of the cameras?"

Richaud's laughter vanished in an instant and a sneer appeared on his face. "I'd rather be watching from a distance when Allison Tveit roasts you alive in front of the cameras."

And it had started again. The last sixteen hours had been a cycle. Decide on at least two of the candidates before Sabine got into an argument with either Bonnaire or Richaud, or Eloi would make some dig at Marcel's inability to keep the Council under control. Then, everyone would start glowering at one another and, in order to keep the peace, Marcel would suggest that the Council go over everything from the top.

Raoul pinched the bridge of his nose and fought back a sigh. They were going to need another coffee break soon.

Just then, Bastien's deep voice cut through the room. "Raoul could do it."

Raoul choked back a laugh. "What?"

"Actually," said Ignace, "that isn't an altogether terrible idea."

Every council member's turned to survey Raoul. He shifted uncomfortably and then shot a venomous glance in Bastien's direction. Of course, Bastien kept his eyes fixed on the floor, determined not to meet anyone's gaze.

"Raoul is barely a chimera," scoffed Bonnaire.

Raoul scowled, but he had to agree. "I have a 0.28 Tasking Number. I can't compete in the Warrior's Seat Competition."

"Certainly you can," said Sabine. "You can keep up with me."

"I've never beaten you," pointed out Raoul.

"Sabine is a 2.82 chimera," said Ignace. "Hardly anyone can beat her. Most candidates will have much lower Numbers than Sabine."

Raoul blinked. Marcel, Sabine, and Ignace were all in agreement. Looking around the table, Raoul was glad to see that the other council members were less convinced. Eloi was frowning, though Raoul suspected that had less to do with his doubt in Raoul's abilities and more to do with the fact that Bastien had suggested the idea.

Richaud and Bonnaire were exchanging meaningful glances until finally, Bonnaire said, "Raoul would be the best choice."

A wry smile formed on Eloi's face. "A 0.28 chimera in the Warrior's Seat Competition. The other Houses won't know what to do."

All eyes were fixed on Raoul again, and he realized that they were waiting for his response. Raoul didn't want to compete. He had no desire to possess the Warrior's Seat. It may technically be the weakest of the five Seats, but it still held more power than Raoul ever wanted to possess. He was happy being a subordinate. Let Marcel and Sabine handle the politics; Raoul fit the role of the supporting friend just fine. He wanted to refuse, but one didn't refuse the Leandre Council. Raoul took a deep breath and, despite his better judgment, he said, "I am ready to do my duty to the Leandre."

A flash of relief crossed Marcel's face.

"Excellent." Eloi leaned back in his chair and taking another sip of tea. "We're decided then."

Yes, sixteen hours and the Leandre Council had finally made a decision.

* * *

**Nine**

"The Leandre have announced their candidates." Kirsten Pehr looked up from the laptop resting on the coffee table. Anton Macris glanced at Niklas, who sat beside him on the black leather sofa, and then back at Kirsten.

Anton had always thought that Kirsten was what mothers should look like. She wasn't beautiful; her face was etched with laugh lines and the beginnings of crow's feet around her dark eyes. But Anton had watched Kirsten play hide-and-seek in the backyard with little Rahel, he had watched Kirsten and Rahel dance offbeat to electric music, and he had watched Kirsten kiss Rahel on each cheek before sending her daughter off to bed. It was as if Kirsten had been made the perfect mother just to remind Anton and Caarina of what their childhoods had lacked.

Niklas swirled his brandy glass, watched the amber liquid move about. "Who did they pick?"

Kirsten turned back to the computer and read aloud the names. "Sabine Leandre, Ragnar Kvaldheim-Leandre, Tessan Riis-Leandre, Kaare Sivertsen-Leandre, and Raoul Leandre."

"Raoul Leandre?" Niklas frowned. "He might have the record for the lowest Tasking Number to be entered in the Warrior's Seat Competition."

"What were the Leandre thinking?" murmured Anton.

Niklas rose from his seat and moved across the living room to the minibar where he refilled his brandy glass.

"There's only the People's candidate left," said Niklas.

Anton nodded. "Every member of the Self-Named voted for Sindre."

Niklas grimaced. "Our collective vote is miniscule compared to the People. They could favor a different chimera."

"There's no other unassociated Nameless who can compete with Sindre," said Kirsten. "All the strong chimera are snatched up by the Houses."

"Still," said Niklas. "What if the People don't choose Sindre?"

Kirsten moved across the living room to her husband's side. She wrapped an arm around his waist and murmured, "How could they not?"

Anton glanced out the windows of the North District house. The backyard was bathed in the orange light of the sunset, giving everything—the pool, the grass, the bushes, the sculptures—an ethereal glow.

"Levi Joakim-Cadmus."

Both Kirsten and Niklas turned to stare at Anton.

"What about him?" asked Niklas.

"His brother was murdered by Peter Oswalk on Head Louisa Cadmus' orders." Anton drummed his fingers on the armrest of the couch. "Do you think he wants to fight for the Cadmus?"

"You think you can convince him to join the Self-Named?" asked Niklas.

Kirsten bit her lip. "That poor family."

Neither Niklas nor Anton were listening to her. In their minds, they were both running through a list of what they could say to Levi to convince him to join the Self-Named.

"If he's loyal to the Cadmus," said Niklas. "Contacting him could put the Self-Named in danger."

"The Cadmus already know we exist," said Anton.

"They could use him as a spy."

"We give him limited information. He won't be a member of a sect; he'll talk to me and me alone."

"It might be better to approach Levi Joakim-Cadmus regardless of whether Sindre is a candidate or not," said Niklas. "The more Self-Named were have fighting for the Warrior's Seat, the better our odds."

"Levi isn't as strong as Sindre," said Anton.

The front door of the Pehr house opened, signaled by the chime of the alarm system.

"The girls are back." Kirsten released her husband and moved towards the hallway.

Niklas sent Anton a sharp look, meaning that they would discuss Levi Joakim-Cadmus later.

There was the sound of hurried footsteps and then two young women, both dressed in jeans and t-shirts, appeared at the doorway of the living room. Rahel flung her arms around Kirsten's neck and planted a kiss on her cheek, while Caarina turned to offer Anton a half-smile.

"Have you been following the announcements?" asked Caarina, moving to join her brother on the couch.

"Of course," said Anton. "How was the sect meeting?"

"We have a newbie." Rahel bounded across the living room to give her father a hug as well.

"The one who beat an unarmed Raoul Leandre in a bar fight," said Caarina. "Rahel already has a crush on him."

"Hey!" cried Rahel. "You're not supposed to tell my parents that."

Niklas set his brandy glass down on the bar counter and turned to survey his daughter. "Who is this newbie?"

"Knute Vidar."

A wide grin spread across Rahel's face and Anton suppressed a groan. He and Caarina knew that look very well. She'd worn it for her classmate Erik, for the waiter at a nearby restaurant, for Olov when she first joined Pearson's Sect—she'd even worn it for Anton at one point. Shaking his head, Anton couldn't help but feel a wave of pity for the unsuspecting Knute Vidar.

* * *

**Ten**

So Sindre Pavind had been chosen as the People's candidate. Dietrich had heard of Sindre Pavind, the Nameless chimera from the slums. Six years ago, Head Marcel Leandre had offered him a spot in the Leandre and a marriage to one of Marcel's cousins. Sindre Pavind had rejected the Head's offer with gusto and that was the last the Houses had seen of him. Until now, apparently.

Dietrich leaned back on his leather sofa and watched the figures on the television screen move about. He wasn't even watching the movie. All his energy was focused on staying awake for at least another hour. Roden, Clare, Magda, and Cord had gone to bed the moment the candidates had been announced, but Dietrich had insisted on staying up so that he didn't screw with his sleep schedule. After being awake for thirty-six hours straight, Dietrich was beginning to regret his decision.

He blinked, trying to keep his eyes open.

It had been decided. Five candidates from the Aegon, five candidates from the Cadmus, five candidates from the Leandre, and one candidate from the People.

Dietrich snorted. If Sindre Pavind thought he could deprive the Houses of the Warrior's Seat, he had another thing coming. The Houses had a way of making sure the People's candidate never reached the finale.

Not that the Houses would have to do anything this year. Dani would be enough to keep Sindre Pavind away from the Seat.

Dietrich had been surprised when he'd seen that "Allison Tveit" was listed amongst the Cadmus candidates. He'd been certain Dani would never represent the Cadmus. Not even if it meant she could gain the power of the Warrior's Seat. But maybe Head Louisa Cadmus had submitted Allison Tveit's name despite Dani's refusal.

A buzzing noise filled the room as Dietrich's cellphone vibrated against the leather couch cushion. Knute had sent a message that Pearson's Sect meeting had ended and he would report tomorrow. Dietrich didn't bother to respond. Knute would come whether Dietrich replied or not.

Thirteen more days, thought Dietrich, sinking a little deeper into the couch. Thirteen more days until the Readjustment Season began.

There was the dull thud of a fist hitting the front door. Dietrich turned to stare at the door, but the blinds were down so he couldn't see who was standing outside. He debated pretending he'd fallen asleep so he wouldn't have to answer it. He didn't want to deal with his family right then. However, the living room lights were on and all his siblings knew he could never fall asleep knowing he was wasting electricity.

Sighing, Dietrich got to his feet and headed for the door.

The sharp knock came again.

"Coming."

Dietrich unlocked the deadbolt and wrenched open the door to find himself face-to-face with the wreck that was Dani Tveit.

The light of his front porch exaggerated her swollen eyes, red nose, and smeared make-up, making her seem distorted and almost ghost-like. There was dried blood on the left side of her forehead, but she barely seemed to notice. Her blue eyes were fixed on Dietrich and the expression on her face was enough to make him cringe.

Part of Dietrich knew he should comfort her, that was gentlemanly thing to do, as his sisters would say, but honestly, the only thought running through Dietrich's mind right then was: so Dani Tveit can cry.

"You look like shit."

"You too."

"So," said Dietrich, stepping back so she could enter the house, "I guess I'll be sleeping on the sofa tonight."

* * *

**That was a long chapter to edit. I scrapped most of the original so sections 2, 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10 are all new. But I got to introduce two of my favorite characters in this chapter.: What did you think of Karsten Geog and Adam Aegon? What about Roden and Clare? What did you think of Pearson's Sect? How's Knute doing as a spy? What do you think of Rahel Pehr? And Anton and Niklas' plotting? What do you think's going on with Peter and Head Louisa's relationship? What about Head Louisa bludgeoning Allison with a paperweight? What do you think of Allison's attempt to thwart Dani? And what about Dani's break down?**

**Please, please, please REVIEW. I don't know how to get you to do it, but I really want to hear your opinions. PLEASE.**


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